


A Man Without

by kurozawa46, Winterstar



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Indiana Jones Hidden Easter Egg, M/M, Mental Instability, Moon Knight (Bendis), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Marc Spector, Rare Pairings, Romance, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony and Steve are NOT friends, Tony is not in a good place, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-04 20:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 48,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10997982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurozawa46/pseuds/kurozawa46, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: A phantom appears on the streets of LA, wielding a Captain American shield, Wolverine claws, and Spiderman webs. The police are after the vigilante hero, and Secretary Ross wants his head. In far off Wakanda, Steve Rogers decides he must intervene and stop the hero before someone gets hurt. Everyone warns him not to get involved. Steve's a wanted man and not the hero all the world once looked upon as the paragon of bravery, courage, and valor. But he cannot ignore the possibility that someone - another person - might get hurt because of him or his inaction. Going to LA is a risk Steve is willing to take. It sets him on a collusion course with fate and with his former team mates. As the world around him unravels, and Steve begins to understand what it means to be a man without a team or a country, a mysterious man with torments of his own steps in and everything Steve knew changes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This note is probably more difficult to write than the actual story was! When I first laid eyes on the art by the wonderful and giving Kurozawa46 I was intrigued. I loved the work but had no idea who Moon Knight was or Marc Spector. I decided to pass on it. Only I couldn't, because it spoke to me. I grabbed it and I was introduced to the complex and mysterious world of Moon Knight. Little did I know that I had already been introduced to the concept of Moon Knight by Stilwel in CA:TWS - when he's naming all the people targeted by Insight. Remember that news anchor in Egypt - yep - that's Marc Spector. That doesn't give you a lot of background. I'm going to try and give you a little here:
> 
> For full references you could go [here](https://marvel.com/universe/Moon_Knight_\(Marc_Spector\)). But I want to warn you we based this Moon Knight on Bendis' very limited (2) book run, only. Spector is a troubled soul with a shadowy past. He used to be a mercenary and not a very nice man. I tried in this story to weave both the news anchor and his ways as a mercenary into his past. What's most important to know is that Marc died or nearly died in Egypt before the god Khonshu brought him back to life and gave him a mission to do good. Now, whether you are to believe this or not is in question. Marc is an unreliable narrator throughout Bendis' books. Why? Because he also happens to have a mental disability. He suffers from schizophrenia that manifests as ghost like personas. He has three that follow him and he talks to them. They are Captain America, Wolverine, and Spiderman. Throughout this story these personas speak to Marc in _italics_. Moon Knight takes on their personas and uses weapons and actions that are appropriate to the persona he is acting as at the time. So, in this story, Marc Spector is Moon Knight and he's waging war around LA as a kind of Captain America-Wolverine-Spiderman hybrid. Strange enough for you? 
> 
> A warning - Tony has not processed what happened in CA:CW. He's still very angry and you should assume he would act accordingly. In no way is this story an attack on his character. His anger has not subsided, and he blames Steve. For more look at the end notes.
> 
> Well if I haven't scared you away from reading - please let me thank some of the people responsible for making this a great story. First, my artist. Thank her, thank her big time. Without kurozawa46 there would be no Cap/Moon at all. This is the ONLY story in that pairing!! The amount of work and effort she put into the art - SO MUCH ART - is as overwhelming as it is beautiful! Thank her - go and look at her [ Tumblr post ](http://kurozawa46.tumblr.com/post/161204124930/amanwithoutart). Look at all the art! Reblog it, like it, tell her how much you love it! Because it is the reason this story exists.
> 
> And I also have to thank my beta, theactualcluegirl. Thank you for reading something I am sure you scratched your head over and wondered - where did this come from! 
> 
> And last, but not least, thank you to thegraytigress for always being there to talk about the wonder of our Steve!

Rolling his jeans, Steve stuffed them into the duffle bag. He checked for all of his other supplies, from his toothbrush to his phone, yet he itched for that one thing he could never have back. The shield and that life had been put to rest for him. He no longer could call himself Captain. 

He took in a deep breath to wash away the thoughts of the Accords, Bucky, Siberia, and Tony. He’d all but given up on the idea that Tony might actually call. The divide between them grew and Steve found himself lost without a time or a country to call his own. Meanwhile Tony seemed to be busy mentoring that young kid from Queens. Avenger business was no longer Steve’s business – but neither was anything else. No time, no country. 

A long time ago, Sam had told him to look into Trouble Man by Marvin Gaye. He supposed that might be a good theme song for him these days. Maybe he should download it onto his phone for the long flight to Mexico.

“It’s not a good idea. In fact, I think it’s your worst idea yet,” Sam said as he leaned against the door frame. Steve threw a quick glance over his shoulder at his friend and only grimaced. “Really, Steve, you can’t go traipsing around the States, they’ll pick you up, and we’ll never see you again.”

Steve went back to finishing the task at hand – packing his meager belongings. He refused to take advantage of their host. None of them liked to do it. He was proud of his team for their character. “I’m not really going for a fun trip, you know.” He zipped up the duffle. “I have to do this.”

“What about Bucky? What about us?” Sam said and stepped into the room. “Wanda is still healing. Scott and Clint are going half mad for their kids. You can’t just do this.”

“I know. Sam, I know. That’s why I’m counting on you to help me, help them.” 

“I kind of feel as if I should be listing all the logical reasons you shouldn’t be the one to hunt down some maniac in LA that’s pretending to be you.” Sam watched him with an astute eye. He was right, but Steve still had to do this – he could afford not to do it. 

“If I don’t then Ross might get to him,” Steve said and dumped the duffle from the bed to the floor. “I don’t know what the end goal for this person is, why they’re dressing up as me and flinging a fake shield around. Or whatever it is. You saw the footage. It’s disturbing.” The blurry footage of a man in a shroud, a cape with a masked face who used a shield that may have been virtual or some kind of high tech. But it was definitely modeled after the Captain America shield.

“It’s only disturbing because you miss it,” Sam said. “T’Challa offered you a place here. Offered all of us safe harbor. You can do anything you want-.”

“You’ve said that before,” Steve said. “And I appreciate it. But I can’t sit around here another day waiting – for what I don’t know.”

“For that damned phone to ring,” Sam said. 

“The phone is never going to ring. I know it, I accept that now. Tony can’t forgive me, that’s what I have to live with.” He stared out at the landscape around him. All the beauty in the world could not make up for what he’d lost. The dawn’s light glimmered through the large window of the palace. Green, lush foliage framed the light and softened it. It was beautiful – Wakanda was a place of dreams and beauty. If there was a heaven, it would look like this. He tore his gaze away from the window. “Now I have to do something. Whomever this guy is I can’t have him getting into trouble because he thinks he’s helping Captain America stay alive in the hearts of people everywhere.”

“But mostly in LA – there’s a not a lot of reporting on it, so far,” Sam said. “Let Tony take care of it. He seemed to want to be the boss of everything.” 

Sam still held a grudge against Tony for the whole Siberia fiasco. Steve couldn’t dissuade him at all. He’d even had a conversation about it with Sam. He tried to explain to Sam how the whole omission of truth, lie, or whatever the hell it was concerning Tony’s parents had been Steve’s fault. 

Sam – always the logical, rational one, analyzed the story and asked the questions. Sam came up with a different angle – from the outside. “How’d you find out? When did you find out that the Winter Soldier killed Tony’s parents?”

They had been in the kitchen of their suites in the palace when they had the discussion. It was a small butler’s type of kitchen without much fanfare, but it did have a small bistro table and chairs. Sam was drinking coffee, and Steve – well Steve was wishing for some of that Asgardian mead. When he answered Sam, he’d done it haltingly and quietly. 

“Before we came to you in DC, remember Natasha and I were on the run?” Steve lined the grain of the table with his fingernail as he spoke. He didn’t wait for Sam to answer him. “When we were trying to find out what was on Fury’s thumbdrive, we ended up at the camp I trained at in Jersey. There was a bunker. According to Nat, all the technology down in the sublevel was ancient.” He laughed then. “A little like me, I suppose. That’s where we met Zola.”

“Zola, I thought he was the guy that changed Bucky, did that experiment on him?” Sam had asked. “Like seventy plus years ago. Don’t any of you guys die?”

Steve had chuckled and then explained about who Zola was and what he’d done. “He was the one to experiment on Bucky, back in 43.” Steve had a hard time gathering the words. He didn’t want to lose another friend. “When Nat and I went to the bunker there was some kind of computer there that SHIELD had used to – for lack of a better word – downloaded Zola’s brain or something into the databank files.”

“Hmm, wow?” Sam shook his head at the incredulity of it. Even as Steve had explained it, he felt as if it was both too close and too unreal to be something he experienced.

“Yeah, we got there and Zola showed us how SHIELD had been infiltrated through the years by Hydra.” At that point as he told the story to Sam he threw his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “Zola showed us how they changed things, how they killed people. Everything.” He bowed his head then. “The links were right there. Howard being killed, the Winter Soldier to blame. I didn’t even know who the Winter Soldier was at the time.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Sam had said. “How were you to know?”

“As soon as the whole thing with SHIELD was over, I should have connected the dots, but I ignored it. I let it fester in the back of my head. I focused on finding Bucky, getting Loki’s spector, and killing off crazed robots.” He admitted to himself that he dropped the ball. He didn’t plan, he didn’t think of contingencies but then doing so would wreck the only home he had. It’d been so long since he’d felt part of something. How could he give up what little he’d built in this new world? “I should have told Tony.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I can see why you didn’t,” Sam had said. “You and Bucky have been together since you were kids.”

“Tony gave me a home.”

“Yeah he did,” Sam said. “So you were in a tough spot. Choosing between two friends, when you know neither one of them will come out better for it. That’s hard and you can’t fault yourself for being human, Steve. Once in a while you are allowed to make a mistake.”

Steve had looked back at Sam and released a pent up breath. “Yeah, I know. I still feel terrible about it.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Natasha is in the same boat. I mean she knew and didn’t tell Tony,” Sam pointed out.

Steve shook his head. “No, it was my responsibility, plus Nat’s had a rough year, you know. All her secrets released, she needs to parse her own reality. No, this burden was definitely on my shoulders.”

“Because you put it there,” Sam had said. “Now, it’s over. It’s time to put the world down, Atlas.” 

That conversation was ages ago, when they first came to Wakanda and found their refuge here. But here he was now, getting ready to put himself in jeopardy by traveling to the States to hunt down some strange person pretending to be Captain America. The exasperation in Sam’s voice filled the room and Steve felt his shoulders tighten. “I’m going, I don’t think you can talk me out of it.”

“What about Bucky?” Sam asked. 

The big guns – that what using Bucky was – and Steve wouldn’t have respected Sam if he hadn’t given it a try. “He’s under for how long, I don’t know. It might be months, it could be years. Hell, it could be decades. I have to-.” He stopped short of saying he had to move on. Wakanda scientists worked tirelessly on his case, but Steve didn’t really expect it to be cleared of the Hydra brainwashing any time soon. “I can’t just sit.”

Sam considered him; his analyzing eyes zeroed in on Steve enough to make him remember the days when Sister Marie Bernard slapped him with a ruler in school. But what Sam said next surprised Steve. “I know you can’t, and believe me I’m happy that you’ve decided to move forward. I kind of get the impression that you’ve been hanging in a status quo since we first met. I think you need to get out there and do things-.”

“Well, I’m doing things.”

“No, you’re still doing things related to Captain America, even though you’ve sworn off of it. You need to let yourself breathe.” 

“Sam,” Steve said. “How do you think I would feel if this guy gets himself arrested, or worse killed because he’s pretending to be me. Damn, he might even end up in the Raft.”

Sam gave in then. He didn’t want to, Steve recognized that. His friend always worried about him, would always want to offer that helping hand. “I could come with?” He lifted his shoulders in a short shrug. “I’m not busy.”

“Sure you are,” Steve said, because it was true. Sam had found a nice niche in the palace. He was working with the Wakanda engineers to create their own pararescue wings. Because they didn’t have a working model, Sam spent hours working with the scientists and engineers on the finer points of the EXO Falcon wings. Steve went on to add, “This, this is something I need to do. I need to stop this person, this guy before someone gets hurt, or-.”

“He ends up at the bottom of the ocean in prison,” Sam finished for him. 

“Exactly,” Steve said and stuck his hand out. “It’s been an honor, Sam.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Sam said. “I know what you’re doing. You’re saying goodbye. You’re leaving and you think you won’t be able to come back.”

Steve held his lips in a thin line, but then said, “Take care of Bucky for me.”

Sam grasped his hand and held it as if he might never let Steve go. “You come back. You make damned sure that you come back.”

“I’ll try,” Steve responded because that was all that he had left to give. He wouldn’t lie to Sam or avoid the reality of the situation. He had avoided too much already. With that, Sam pulled him into a full embrace and, for an instant, Steve lost his resolve. He wanted to stay, find some way to be useful again. He knew his course, and he understood that it was time to move on, time for him to redefine himself instead of sitting waiting for the world to define him. He pulled back. “Thanks, Sam.”

“No, goodbyes,” Sam said and blinked too many times. “No goodbyes.”

“Then how about see you soon?” Steve replied and it felt right but it still left that ache deep in the pit of his stomach. He’d lost so much already, walking away from Sam felt like losing his life all over again. If he didn’t leave immediately, he would lose his resolve. So Steve backed away and thanked Sam one more time before he started down the ornate hallway of the palace. He tried not to look, to see this place as a home – but it had become one. 

He remembered appreciating the open and modern lines of the palace that easily and with great artistic flare, interwove cultural artifacts and native art works throughout the architecture. This wasn’t the modern of cold and steel and devoid of emotion – this was the modern that grew organically from the base of the Wakandan culture. Artworks along the walls included vibranium welded into a weave of complex patterns with native artworks from clay to metal seamlessly interlocked. This was a place rich in history and that celebrated art and sciences. The Wakanda nation didn’t shy away from secular growth and had never banished the spiritual side of its identity. Steve wondered at it many times, how easily Wakanda understood the separation of Church and State while at the same time giving each its due. Everything about Wakanda made Steve realize how much work his own birthplace needed and he felt as if he was letting America down. That he’d never finished the work he’d started.

This small step back to the United States might not be the best thing to do, but it was the right thing to do. And for once, Steve felt good about himself again, about doing something. He always considered himself to be a man of action. This action wouldn’t change the world, but he never truly agreed with the idea that every action needed to be grandiose. Ever since he was a small sickly boy, he knew that determination, a sense of right and wrong, and pure willpower drove dedication to transform the world. So, he stuck with that even as he met with T’Challa one more time before embarking on the monorail to the airport.

“Are you sure, Captain? It is a dangerous world for you,” T’Challa said.

Steve glanced around and didn’t see the usual guards around the King. “I’m sure. This is the right thing to do. And you shouldn’t be without the Dora Milaje.” The all-female guards were formidable. They even caused Steve pause.

“I am certain they will chastise me soon. I wanted this time to say that you are always welcome here, Captain.”

Steve bowed his head and said, “Not really a captain anymore.”

“No, your path is different now. You may call this your home, now.”

It was intriguing and welcoming but he couldn’t accept it. “You know I can’t do that, I can’t endanger your people any more than I already have.”

T’Challa looked genuinely distressed by Steve’s answer. “Then you truly are a nomad.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This will help you. There’s a passport with your new ID. I wanted to deliver this myself because I wanted you to know, that your friend is safe with us.”

“Thank you, your highness. Thank you.” No other words seemed adequate and then the rush of the monorail stirred the air and the horn deafened them as they stood on the platform in the garage. 

“Take care.” T’Challa stepped away just as two of his guards came striding up to join him. Steve took the manila envelope and headed to the train. Without further word, he settled onto a bench seat in the monorail and sighed. The doors beeped twice before closing and then the train took off.

Steve glanced at the envelope, opened it, and studied the contents. A passport, a driver’s license, a visa, rental car instructions, and a wad of cash – both pesos and dollars. Steve frowned. There was also an address in LA with the words scrawled _safe house_. He shoved most of the information and the cash into the front pocket of his bag. In less than three hours he would be on a plane to Tijuana, Mexico. From there he would pick up a rental car and drive to the border. Hopefully, he would be able to get through the border crossing. He’d grown a beard and darkened his hair while in Wakanda. With that and the fake identification he hoped no one at the border would pin him to Captain America. 

He glanced around the train car. No one paid any attention to him and he smiled. The idea of going home, even if it wasn’t the East Coast or New York City, rushed through him and he tried to quell his heart and his fears. But he had to confess, he wanted to be home again. He wanted to see America again, even if he could never again claim her as his own.

INTERLUDE 1: The Legend of the Moon Knight

There are somethings better left unearthed. 

In the cradle of civilization, near the fertile lands of the river Nile, the Pharaohs built a vast and powerful society. The culture of the ancient Egyptians revolved around the mystical powers of the dead and what happened following death. As in every aspect of their culture, the Egyptians ritualized the passage from life to death. In order to prepare for death, articles and gold and fine wares were prepared along with the body of the deceased. These items were blessed and sealed in great tombs. Never more grand than those of the rulers of Egypt, the Pharaohs. When Egypt fell and their culture dwindled, the world lost much of its understanding of those ancient times. 

Archeologists strove to uncover the rituals, the history, and the rich legends of the Nile. It was here that archeologists labored for weeks and months searching for clues about the ancient Pharaohs and the lives of the Egyptians. Dr. Peter Alraune discovered the tomb of a little known Pharaoh but before he could unearth the treasures, a terrorist named Raoul Bushman killed the scientist. A news anchorman in Cairo and a one-time mercenary, Marc Spector investigated the murder. During his inquiry though, Bushman attacked the news reporter and left him for dead in the middle of the desert. Dr. Alraune’s own daughter found Marc Spector’s body and brought him to the foot of a statue of the moon god, Khonshu. There, Marc Spector was pronounced dead, but the world of ancient Egypt was not done with the soldier of fortune/investigative reporter and revived Marc Spector to become Moon Knight – a new hero ready to change the world for good.

“That sounds ridiculous.”

Marc frowned and grumbled. “I told you not to use my name or any of the real names in this.” He tore up the script. “This is supposed to be a fantasy show not anything based on reality.”

His assistant, Amy, stared at him with derision. “No one believes this actually happened, boss. No one thinks you’re the vigilante Moon Knight. No one even believes there is a vigilante hero, Moon Knight.”

Brushing a hand through his thick dark hair, Marc shook his head. “Well, someone believes it. The Secretary of State said Moon Knight had to sign the Accords or there would be a warrant for his arrest.”

“That’s theatrics,” Amy said. 

“This is a television show, why don’t you just go and focus on that,” Marc replied and waved her away. He needed a break from the wheelings and dealings of television production. He longed for the days when his life wasn’t dictated by work, mundane work. He wanted to get back in his cape, get under his mask, and get to work. Once she left, Marc turned around and looked at his other three companions. _Ghosts, personas, visions_

“Well?” Marc asked. “Go ahead, tell me how I’m wasting my time.”

_You’re wasting your time. And ours, bub._

Marc ignored Wolverine. He could always be an ass. Instead he turned to Captain America and asked. “You think I have to have a cover, right? This isn’t wrong to have something, do something.”

_You need to have a cover. With the Accords and Ross, I believe you are doing the right thing._

_I’m not so sure. I’m in high school, I need to go home and do homework._

Marc cringed at that statement because he wasn’t certain Spiderman was a kid. Maybe he was just young sounding or something. “You don’t have any homework.” He could have homework, at least Marc was fairly certain that Spidey didn’t have homework. Had he visited a class room lately?

_Don’t get off track, Marc. The television show is a distract to your real mission._

“Thanks, Cap.” The mission he believed the god of the moon gave him had been to make the world a better place. Though sometimes he wondered what the definition of a better place was. With the Accords, the Avengers broken apart and Captain America was a fugitive from justice, the world caved in around Marc. He faltered and depended more and more on his companions, his people. _His other personas._

_Marc, call your Buck and see if he can help you. You need to make sure that Secretary Ross is not on your trail as you hunt down the Ultron parts._

Cap was right, of course. Always right. 

His Buck.

His Buck had lost his job when SHIELD fell. Often Marc wondered if in his capacity as an Agent of SHIELD, if Buck had ever met Steve Rogers, talked to him. Maybe one day, Marc would ask – but his Buck kept to himself. Reticent to share any details of his previous work. Truth was though, Marc needed Buck and his abilities, his contacts. Marc nodded and then his companions dissipated. He shivered. A breeze from the open window hit him. He yanked his phone from his pocket and hit the connect. In seconds Buck was on the phone.

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you get some intel on Secretary Ross for me?”

“You’re talking about the Secretary of State, that Ross?” Buck said. He always sounded overly exasperated with Marc. 

“Yes, I have to see what his agenda is for the Moon Knight,” Marc said. He squeezed his eyes closed because he felt the hovering presence again. “I can’t get my work done if he’s after me.”

“You could just sign the Accords.”

Marc glanced around his empty office and thought of his companions – how long would he last in custody. They would send him to an insane asylum. And he wasn’t insane, his companions helped him figure out the world and his plans. “No, that’s not an option.”

“You could ask for help from the Avengers then on your quest to find all the Ultron parts on ebay and Craig’s list. See if the kingpin – what’s his name?”

“Nefaria, we think.”  
“Find out if Nefaria is acting alone trying to build a new Ultron. If you went ahead and just signed the Accords.”

_You want I beat on him?_

Marc growled out a _no_ to Wolverine before he turned back to the conversation he was having on the phone. “It wouldn’t work out, Buck. Just drop it okay. Anyhow, Cap told me to contact you, that you would help me out.”

“Seriously, dude you need help. There is no Captain America anymore. He’s not directing you. He hasn’t been seen in months. He’s a fugitive.” 

He thought of Buck, of the truth of what his friend had said. The Accords, the Avengers drove Captain America away. Everyone said Captain America was a criminal. Marc couldn’t possibly believe it, but then again his brain conjured super hero personalities. Who was he to make a final judgement about anyone? 

“Let’s just say I have a private line to Captain America,” Marc said. “So I need you to do this for me.”

“Captain America, you spoke to Captain America,” Buck said. 

“In a manner of speaking, yes. So could you find out if Ross is after me or not?” Marc asked.

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Buck, you’re a good friend.”

He heard a sigh and then Buck answered, “I get paid well to be your friend, don’t forget that part.” He hung up. 

When he looked around the office again he found no one. He wanted to will them back, but his companions were fickle things. They came and went as they pleased. He decided to leave the office, go back to his house (a mansion with empty rooms with shadows of the past and echoes warning of the future). As he left the set, Marc didn’t say goodbye. He just scooped up his keys and made his way to his car. The night wrapped around the car like his cape would, a shield against prying eyes and his identity. He hid that well from all the world. No one needed to know who the real Marc Spector was. No one needed to know who lived in that empty house in LA. No one needed to know there was more than one side to Marc Spector, more than one mind. 

Somethings were better left alone.

CHAPTER 2  
Getting across the Mexican border into the California ended up being easier than Steve thought it should be, considering the security. Of course, Steve didn’t fit the type the patrol would pull over, so he had that privilege on his side, which he was both thankful for and repulsed by at the same time. He had a car that T’Challa had set up for him – actually ended up with a car delivered to him at the Tijuana airport. 

He drove through the border checkpoint without any issues and he headed up the coast. He’d never been to San Diego and wanted to stop and check out the sights, but at the same time, he knew time was pressing on his safety. Even as he drove the length of the California shore the feeling of being a rat in a maze came over him. T’Challa had been smart; he’d ordered a simple Ford Explorer for Steve. Nothing tricked out; nothing to draw anyone’s attention. Steve couldn’t spend time sightseeing. He had to respect what T’Challa had already done for him. He only had a week before he was expected back in Mexico for transport back to Wakanda. If he didn’t make it back, it was understood that he wasn’t going to make it back, that he’d been arrested and probably sunk deep under the ocean in the Raft.

When he spoke to T’Challa about his plans, the new King had asked him why. Steve could only give the one answer. It was his responsibility to ensure that no one would get harmed again because of him. The idea that someone in LA might be running around pretending to be Captain America, trying to keep the legend alive, bothered him. Unlike Sam’s theories that Steve was a bit more possessive of the image of Captain America than he admitted, the idea of Steve failing again ate at him. Steve realized he’d failed Tony. Sam had pointed out that it wasn’t only Steve’s burden to carry but the truth still consumed Steve’s waking moments. He wanted something more out of life now, but he couldn’t get it until he somehow put the memories of his previous life behind him. Having someone in danger by impersonating Captain America made it that much more difficult to begin anew. 

As he drove along the coast, Steve kept the goal in mind. This wasn’t a pleasure trip and he wasn’t here to reminisce about his former life. He tried not to acknowledge the fact that his life drifted without anchor now. He maneuvered the SUV through the thick of the traffic, not listening to the radio. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to hear news about the Avengers or what happened to them. Being on the front had become so ingrained in him that he fought to define himself as something more, something different. This would be the last of his actions under the guise of Captain America. After this he would find a new definition of himself, find a new Steve Rogers.

The ride took him a little over three hours, not because he stopped but due to the thick traffic. He made his way through the streets, not paying much attention to the different neighborhoods. The sightings of Captain America were close to Hollywood, so he would concentrate his search in that area. He found his way along Sunset Boulevard and then navigated to a small hostel in Little Armenia. It wasn’t anything fancy but exhaustion had settled in his bones. He parked the SUV in a garage that would eat a lot of his budget, but then pulled the duffle bag out and went to the hostel. 

When he went to the desk at the hostel a kid Steve thought should be in high school greeted him. The lobby of the building smelled vaguely of too much cooking oil, a little bit of garlic, and far too much human sweat. He wrinkled his nose at the stench but happily accepted the key to the room. It didn’t seem as much a hostel as a rundown motel. He smiled at the group of young people in the kitchen as he walked to the staircase. They were laughing as a pot boiled on the stove. The kitchen table was an old wooden one that reminded him of the one his mother had in their flat all those years ago. When one of the young women looked up at him, he only nodded and turned the corner to climb the narrow stairs that creaked as he made his way. He got to the third floor and found the small room. It was just that – a room with a bed and a table. The hallway bathroom was shared and the room didn’t have a dresser or a closet for his clothes. 

He dumped the duffle on the floor, locked the door, and went to the bed, sitting on it. It felt as if he was the only person in the world. As he sat in the dingy room with chipped paint and a ripped screen in the window, it transported him back decades. The room, his life adrift, he recalled the same feeling when his mother died, when Bucky told him he didn’t have to go it alone. But even now, he was alone. Bucky – his best friend – his brother – gone under again. His one calling in life gone. What else was left to him? Was Ultron right, did he need a war to feel useful, needed?

Inhaling, Steve steadied his fears, his doubts and pulled out the meager evidence he’d been able to gather while half a world away. He needed to find his way to the one place that the evidence pointed to – someplace named Pinks – a hotdog stand. Apparently some masked guy in a cape had been seen around the area with a virtual shield. Steve wasn’t even sure what a virtual shield might be – but it was his only clue. 

Plus, he was hungry and hot dogs sounded pretty good right about now, and within his small budget. He stuffed his duffle under the bed and then left the hostel, trying to not feel a million years older than all of the occupants. They looked at him like he was an intruder on their space. 

He chided himself – reading too much into their looks. He needed to separate the ache of losing everyone and everything around him from the job at hand. Of course, Sam had told him the job was just an excuse – maybe it was. Maybe he was looking to be caught and sunk into the ocean. He didn’t exactly know anymore. 

When he found his way to the hot dog stand, he walked the neighborhood. It seemed fairly middle class. Lots of restaurants, bars, a few new age churches. When he walked into the hot dog place and his eyes adjusted his heart went to his throat. Bolt. His brain screamed at him, but his feet stayed fixed in place as Sharon Carter raised an eyebrow at him and motioned for him to sit with her at one of the few tables in the joint. 

Glancing at the counter, Steve scanned the menu and then raised a hand to indicate he saw her. Instead he went to the counter, ordered six dogs with fries and a soda. He brought the loaded tray over to her. Sitting down, he placed the tray on the tiny round red metal table. 

“Are you here to arrest me?” 

“Nope,” Sharon said. “I’m here to warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“Stop running around and doing the Captain America thing,” Sharon said. She looked good, though there were dark smudges under her eyes. 

“I have stopped.”

“Well, then what’s with the caped crusader with the high tech shield?” 

“I came here to find out the same thing,” Steve said. “It’s not me. I wanted to find out to stop whomever it is – because-.”

“You don’t want them getting in trouble because of you,” Sharon said. Her eyes felt like mirrors, something sad, something lost in them. “Steve, you need to stop trying to be everyone’s savior. That’s what got you into this mess in the first place.”

All those emotions they shared seemed to have dried like autumn leaves. Time dusted them away. It hurt. But then again, everything hurt when it came to his emotions and life these days. He finished off two hot dogs and said, “I don’t think I’m a savior.”

“Your whole life you’ve tried to save people. I think that’s the definition of a savior complex.” She stole some of his fries. “Maybe you should spend a little time saving yourself.”

“I think I can handle my life. Thanks for the advice.” He moved to stand, but she pressed on his hand and he sat back down again.

“If it isn’t you, then I think you might want to know,” Sharon said. She pulled out a file from her overburdened leather purse. “This isn’t in the database and it isn’t electronic. Good old fashioned paper. Sometimes, being old fashioned has its perks-.”

“Like people can’t hack you,” Steve said and accepted the manila folder. “What is it?”

“Just some of my information. If you aren’t being the newest incarnation of Captain America, then someone else is. And that someone else – well, they aren’t being all that careful and they might be a little crazy,” Sharon said.

He flipped open the folder and found a profile of the caped Captain America impersonator. How anyone thought this person was Steve confused him. A full faced mask, a cape with a hood – not the right colors more monochromatic. He lifted his gaze to her and she shrugged in reply.

“We didn’t have any other theory.”

“We?”

“The CIA.”

“Thought you were on probation.”

“I was, thanks to you. But I’ve been assigned the Hollywood beat, kind of a dead one. So-.” She looked away. He could feel the hurt radiating off of her. 

“So they’re trying to put you out by boring you to death,” Steve finished for her. “I’m sorry, Sharon. If things had been different.” He left it like that because he really didn’t have an answer for her. 

“No, it’s okay,” she said. She patted his hand and then smiled. “Take care of this Steve, otherwise I’m going to have to bring you in and I don’t want to do that. I won’t do it, and I’ll lose my job and my freedom.”

“How’d you find me, anyhow?” Steve crinkled his brows.

“A girl has her ways. But it wasn’t all that hard. The beard hardly hides the jaw of justice,” she smirked but stood up at the same time. “Good luck. Find this person for everyone’s sake.”

It was the least he could do for her. “I will. Thanks,” he said and then added, “I think.”

“Yeah, good bye Steve.” Without another word, Sharon stood up and, with a sad smile, exited the hot dog restaurant. Steve watched her go and didn’t even think about racing after her. He’d already done enough to ruin her career. She’d given him a lot and it was time for him to let her go so she could find her place in the world again and rebuild herself. 

He sighed. Sometimes it felt that way – for everyone. That he should leave behind most of the people he interacted with and just seclude himself from the rest of the world. He tucked the file in his breast pocket of his leather jacket and dug into the rest of his meal. He had to admit the food was great and the hot dogs better than anything he had at Coney Island. Of course, Bucky would think that was a sacrilege. He smiled to himself and finished up. 

“Good meal?” 

His senses went on high alert. But when he looked up it was only a man – about Steve’s height but a little leaner in build. He had dark hair and a scruff of a beard like he was trying to grow that ridiculous beard that Tony had, but then just stopped. Or maybe his razor wasn’t working anymore. 

“Pretty good.” Steve glanced around the place. No one else was there. 

“Best place in LA to get hot dogs if you ask me.” The guy scanned the place and muttered, “But no one asked me.” He settled on Steve again. “You new around here? Haven’t seen you in Pinks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said but a creeping sensation came over him as the guy scrutinized him. “Just a tourist, you know. Looking for celebrities.”

“Hmm, lots on Sunset Boulevard. You know the place? Get on some of those tours,” the guy said. 

“Planning to. Thank you,” Steve said and started to stand, but the guy approached his small round metal table. His eyes were piercing and blue.

“Stay safe, some places around here aren’t safe.” When he put his hand out and held onto the back of the chair, Steve caught site of a metal shackle around his wrist. It didn’t exactly look like a manacle but it definitely reminded him of weaponry – apparatuses used for hand to hand combat. 

Steve’s gaze lingered there for a moment, before he looked up into the man’s eyes. “I’ll be careful, then.”

For a moment, there was a glossy expression to the man’s eyes as if he wasn’t listening to Steve, as if he was listening to some unnamed, unseen characters – and then he righted his focus and smiled at Steve. “You do that.” He left Steve sitting there and only the young teenaged kid who worked the counter seemed to notice the exchange.

The teenaged kid said, “Don’t worry about him. He’s always weird like that.”

Steve only nodded, because something about the man set off alarm bells. He cleaned up his table and gathered up the trash but the kid at the counter came over to clear it away. Steve thanked him and then the kid smiled. It only served to remind Steve how broken the world around him was – because he used to feel accepted in the world as Captain America – now as Steve Rogers he felt more of a burden. He threw a few dollars on the table as a tip and left the place with the information from Sharon in hand. 

That night he went through all of the file. Sitting on his too small bed, listening to the throbbing beat of music from the other rooms in the hostel, Steve read all of the reports about the vigilante. Not only did the suspect happen to have some high tech shield but he also seemed to have the webbing of Spiderman and the claws of someone called Wolverine – like a friend Steve used to know in the war, a long time ago. Steve didn’t know any Wolverine, but he wasn’t exactly caught up with the whole phenomena of mutants at all either. The shackle around the man’s wrist in the hot dog place came to mind for a moment. He thought about the mechanism, what it looked like, what it could possibly be. It wasn’t a manacle, but it wasn’t a bracelet. There was obviously some mechanism on the band. Maybe it was just a new fashion statement. While Steve adjusted to the 21st century there were some things he would never be prepared for very well.

Eventually Steve went to sleep, but he found himself awake in the wee hours of the morning. He pulled on his jogging shorts and a t-shirt, and tucked his phone and wallet in his zipped pocket. He went running – and all he did was run. He let himself drift as he ran, through the streets thinking about the States were his home and how he would only ever feel like a visitor now. He continued down the streets, cutting corners, going through alleys. He liked the feel of the alley ways and the small off shoots from the main drag because in these places it reminded him of New York – a place he desperately missed. As he ran by another alley way he heard a clatter and then a bang. He backed up to peer around the corner of a large brick building that was a pawn shop. He heard a snarl – as if someone was fighting a dog or something. Approaching cautiously, Steve inched into the darkened area only to see a flash and then be thrown back by a blast.

The heat and the flames brushed him and he slammed against the brick wall, squinting into the explosion. The heat burst forth and Steve curled against the wall as the surge burned bright and then died down. He staggered a moment, blinded by the white blast. His skin prickled and felt vaguely like a sunburn. Blinking away the scorching tears, he stumbled deeper into the alley but then a mass of shadows against the orange and white of the fire crashed into him, practically trampling him as they raced to escape the conflagration. He fell to his knees, took in a smoke laden breath and tried to focus on the scene in front of him. 

As he crawled forward, he realized it wasn’t an alley way at all, but a loading bay for the building next to the pawn shop. The alley opened up to a rear access road and whatever the hell had happened took out the back section of the building next to the pawn shop. Flames raged, licking up the inside of the loading bay and, crumpled on the ground near the corner of the building, lay a figure. For a moment, Steve paused, waiting for the person to move. When there was no discernible movement, Steve crossed the distance with his arm raised to ward off the worst of the heat from the fire. The man on the ground was covered in a cowl and a cape. Steve reached forward and checked for a pulse, pushing under the neckline of the hood. Steady but weak.

“I need to call the police.”

A hand reached up and seized his wrist. “No cops.”

“You’re hurt. You need an ambulance.”

“No hospital.” A bloodied hand pawed at Steve. His glove torn away to reveal a slice across his palm. 

Steve paused, considering the man and his request. “There’s blood.” Everywhere. Across what’s left of a mask, on his hands, on his chest. The hooded man panted as he fought for breath. “You need a doctor.”

“No, no doctor,” the man said and tried to flip over, to turn over, and get to his feet. 

Looking around, Steve saw no immediate threats. He grabbed hold of the man’s arm and slipped it over his shoulder. The man grasped and Steve wondered if the man had bruised or broken ribs. Another crash within the burning building either warned of impending collapse or something more nefarious. The man in his arms jerked in fear or surprise at the sound, Steve didn’t know. Debating seemed like a bad choice at the moment, so Steve gathered the man and helped him to his feet. 

“Over there,” the hooded man pointed as he wobbled on his feet, only Steve’s support kept him standing. 

Wavering, the hooded man grappled for purchase but Steve steadied him. Where he was going to bring the man, Steve had no idea whatsoever. After all, he’d been on a run. His car was parked in a garage near the hostel. The caped man gestured again to beyond the burning building and so Steve helped him toward the fenced area, finding a lot with cars. Most of which looked non-functional. His companion lurched toward a pickup truck that looked like it had last run around the time Steve went into the ice. Before Steve could object, they rounded the side of the truck to find a convertible. 

“Here,” the man said and pointed. “Right here.” He muttered something that sounded like _Cap_ and Steve startled in response. 

“What?” The man grumbled and refused to answer as he tried to dig out his keys. Steve shook his head and grabbed the keys. “I don’t think so,” Steve said and steered the man to the passenger side. He deposited the man, who teetered between consciousness and oblivion. Steve weighed whether or not he should bring the man to the emergency room. He secured the man in the passenger’s seat and then went to the driver’s seat. As Steve hit the ignition, the hooded man opened his eyes.

Those blue eyes, once glossy with pain, looked straight at him, but also through him. “Bring me home.”

“I don’t know where you live.” He didn’t even know why the hell he was doing this – the memory of Sharon warning him echoed in his head. He shouldn’t get involved, not like this. But if he wanted to get this whole thing sorted out, he needed to be involved – right now, right here. He frowned as the man mumbled the address. If he didn’t have enhanced hearing he wouldn’t have caught it. “You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”

“Just home,” the man said and eased back in the seat.

“You need to tell me where,” Steve said and pulled out his phone, all the while thinking about how it would regret it. He shifted the Jag into gear. He plugged in the address after the strange man gave him the details and drove the car into the night.

INTERLUDE 2 Hollywood the land of dreams

He eased back in the car seat and watched as Captain America drove his car. This couldn’t be real – he wasn’t that crazy. Or at least he didn’t think he was that crazy. He rubbed at his eyes and only managed to blind himself with the blood leaking from the slice on his scalp. Cringing, he tried to clear it away and only managed to make things worse. Again, he glanced at the stranger (it was Captain America – he would know that profile anywhere even with a beard). Maybe the hit to the head sent him over the edge and now he was hallucinating while driving. That couldn’t be good.

He grumbled and the man at the wheel (maybe he was driving himself) turned to him. “Are you okay? You really should let me take you to the hospital.”

He decided the best course of action was opposition. Throw him a curve ball and see how his delusion responded. “Not so sure that would be good for you, would it? Someone there would recognize you and turn you in.” The man flinched but didn’t reply. That was good enough for Marc. So he said, “It’s really you?”

_I don’t have a beard._

Marc stretched to peer over his shoulder and to see his Captain America sitting in the cramped backseat – if you could even call it that. If his vision of Captain America was in the backseat, then it had to be the real deal in the driver’s seat. “Well you do now.”

“What?” The man at the wheel said.

“You have a beard,” Marc said and watched the driver, how his face contorted, how he shifted his eyes, and tried to measure what Marc’s play was. 

“A lot of people have beards. It’s a fashion thing, isn’t it?” He seemed off, like Marc shook him with the simple question. “Stark, Tony Stark has a beard.” 

“Don’t much like him,” Marc said and fell against the leather of the seat. He was probably bleeding all over the place.

_That’s not nice, Tony Stark is one of the leaders of the Avengers._

“You’re not on the Avengers anymore, right?”

The guy at the steering wheel glared at him, but then shifted his focus back to the road, and said, “Listen, I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not an Avenger.”

Marc closed his eyes. He wasn’t even sure which Captain America he was talking to anymore. Did the one at his steering wheel know Wolverine and Spiderman? Was the one in his car after him? What was he doing in LA? 

“What are you doing in LA?” Marc rolled his head and his cowl fell down around his neck. His face hurt, his ribs ached, and he was pretty sure he sprained his wrist. He had no idea where his mask was.

“Tourist, I’m a tourist,” the driver said but even he didn’t believe it – the way he said it sounded like he was trying to convince himself, too. “And you were in Pinks, earlier.”

“Sure.” Damn it.

_He ain’t no tourist, bub. He’s here to hunt you down and stop you._

Wolverine perched on the side of the car and looked like he might tumble to the pavement as the car wove through traffic. It was utterly ridiculous and, for anyone else, would have convinced him of the fallacy of the vision – but not Marc. Marc knew that the Egyptian god of the moon, Khonshu had gifted him with visions, with guides. Captain America, Spiderman, and Wolverine were all his guides as he tried to do what was right as Moon Knight.

“You can’t stop me,” Marc said and pressed a bloodied hand against his bruised ribs. 

“Maybe not, but maybe you need some friends,” the driver said. “I know where you’re at. Or at least I can sympathize. I know what it means to want to do the right thing, and have to go it on your own.”

Marc gritted his teeth against the growing pain. “I’m not sure you know what a loner really is.”

“You’d be surprised. You can be surrounded by a dozen people, or a family, or even a team and be completely alone. It isn’t about who is there physically in the room, but who is there with you in spirit, sometimes,” he said and there was a melancholy in his voice that ached in Marc’s chest more than his bruises and cuts. 

_He might have a point._

Marc tried to ignore the fact that Spiderman was sitting on the front hood of his Jag as it sped through traffic. It was easy, because his gaze shifted over to the driver. “What’s your name?”

He only shook his head in reply. “We’re not going to be friends. I’m going to drop you off and get a doctor for you and that’s it.”

_No he isn’t. He’s going to come inside, and he’s going to help you. You know he is, because I would._

He didn’t say anything to the Captain sitting in the backseat. He only focused on the one driving him home. “When did you get in town?”

“Does it matter?” 

Marc didn’t answer. “Maybe that hit to the head did me in.” He glanced at the Captain in the driver’s seat. He was sure it was the Captain, he didn’t care if the guy had a beard or not. “You know, maybe I’m dead again.”

“Again?”

“I died, an Egyptian god brought me back to life.” He knew he shouldn’t be telling his secrets. People would think he was crazy or something. He snickered at that thought. 

_Wowza, what are you trying to do scare him off or something?_

Sometimes, Marc wished that he had someone like the Hulk as a personality instead of the teenager Spiderman. What wisdom could the webslinger really offer anyhow? At least, Bruce Banner might impart some intelligent discourse.

_That’s rude. I might be young but at least I’m sane._

_It is pretty rude, bub._

“Dying isn’t all that great,” his driver said and peered at him before turning back to the road. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“And I’m not the Moon Knight, let’s forget about the formalities.” 

His driver maneuvered the Jag up the curved driveway to the mansion that Marc lived in – alone or alongside his trio of ghosts who followed him and guided him. He considered them a blessing of the god Khonshu in some ways or maybe he was just insane like everyone thought. He knew enough to keep his mouth shut about their existence. As they drove up to the house, his companion ducked his head a little and surveyed the house. “That’s huge. This your house?”

“Yep, my former life had its benefits,” Marc said but didn’t elaborate. He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit to Captain America that being a mercenary was profitable. It had its ugly side. He could admit being an investigative reporter but not the mercenary part – that part might just get him dead again.

“Do you have someone here? I could get them to come out and help you. Then maybe I’ll call me a cab or something.”

For the first time Marc noted that the bearded Captain America was in jogging shorts. He didn’t look like he had anything else on him, maybe a wallet and a phone but that was it. His skin was reddened, probably by the explosion, and ash and dust smudged his face and shirt. He’d come to Marc’s aid without much of anything but himself – and Marc was supposed to believe that this guy wasn’t Captain America? Marc swore he could hear Wolverine laughing. 

“No, no one’s here. I live alone.” Marc tried to sit up but his bruised ribs protested the move.

“Here let me help you.” His driver got out of the convertible after he parked it and moved to the passenger side of the car. With deft hands he helped Marc out of the car and then took most of Marc’s weight against his shoulder. “Big house.”

“Empty house,” Marc commented as they approached the large entranceway. The architecture didn’t look homey or welcoming. It recalled a 70s kind of modernism with narrow windows and large slabs of concrete to form walls like a fortress. It was anything but pretty. 

His companion used Marc’s keys to open the front door that swept into an open vestibule. It was modern and sleek, with metal, chrome, and white, white walls. It wasn’t like he enjoyed it here. He always said he lived in his head more than any other place. Wolverine chuckled in the background. Limping into his home, Marc let go of the Captain (even though he was pretending not to be the Captain). He found his way to the metal railing near the staircase. 

“Let me help you.” 

Without pause, his companion grasped him again and slowly guided him up the staircase. A slight nod and Marc pointed to his bedroom. His companion brought him there and helped him sit on the massive bed. “Are you going to tell me your name or do I just assume what it is?”

“You can call me whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’m not who you think I am.” He unclasped the cape and hood. 

“No shit. You’re Steve Rogers. A beard isn’t going to hide that, you know.” Marc said and then groaned as he yanked off the gloves and the claw mechanism. He also pulled off the bracelets that held the webs and the shield. “I know a little about pretending to be something I’m not.”

“And I know a little about being hurt and pretending I’m not,” he replied. “Let me see.”

Marc sat without a word as Steve (he didn’t care he was going to call him Steve in his head) examined the bruises, the cuts, the burns. He hissed as fingers probed his side.

“You should let me clean this up.”

_Be nice_

Marc didn’t reply to either of the Captain’s words. 

“Let me give you a hand. I can disinfect the wounds.” Steve climbed to his feet and walked to the ensuite. Marc grumbled, apparently the real Captain America did whatever the hell he wanted to do. 

_You need to get rid of him. It isn’t safe having him here. What if Maya shows up?_

He looked over at Wolverine. For once the man wasn’t being a bully or a smart aleck. “She’s not going to show. You know that. She left me.” Occasionally, Maya worked with him as her alter-ego, Echo. They did good work together. 

_Hey man, you never even really had her. Besides, I thought she was dead._

“Don’t be a jerky teenager,” Marc said. Maya wasn’t dead – or at least he didn’t remember her dying. He turned to look at his Captain. “What do you think, is that the real deal? Is that really Steve Rogers?” He lifted his chin to indicate the man in his bathroom.

_What do you think?_

“I think I’m in a load of trouble if a wanted man is in my bathroom and the Kingpin of LA is collecting Ultron parts.”

His Captain smiled. _Or things just got interesting._

CHAPTER 3  
Steve really needed some clothes. After he finally got the guy he’d rescued cleaned up, kind of bandaged, and into bed, he sat there and watched him for a while as he slept. He supposed he should be happy that his little crusade to LA came to a quick and fruitful end, but the truth was he really didn’t feel like he understood this guy at all. The man had all kinds of gizmos that seemed to function to mimic other superheroes. The virtual shield, the claws, the webslingers. He wished he could talk to another Avenger about it, but of course, Tony was out.

So he stepped out of the bedroom and into the hallway to call Sam. It would be late in Wakanda and he hoped to hell he wasn’t waking Sam up - but he needed to talk to him. He did a quick calculation in his head and figured that it was still early evening in Wakanda. He pressed the button on his phone to connect to his friend. Luckily, the technology he carried was specialized by Wakanda engineers and scientists – so much so that the likes of Tony Stark would be envious. With this phone his worries of being tracked disappeared. The encryption and – what T’Challa called phantom clones – would easily throw anyone off his path. He didn’t pretend to understand the technology or what T’Challa explained, but at least he knew he would be safe calling Sam.

“Steve?”

“Hey, Sam. Nice to hear your voice.”

Sam breathed out heavily. “God, good to hear you too. There’s some news about someone in LA running around again last night with a shield again. They’re hinting at more, but nothing breaking yet. I’m worried. We’re all worried.”

“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry. I really am.” He walked the length of the hallway and made his way to the wall of windows in the second floor of the mansion. The city below the mansion teemed with life and buzzed about like insects below them as the mansion sat in the hills of Hollywood. It seemed so sterile and stale. How could anyone live here? “I kind of stumbled on the guy this morning, believe it or not. Completely by surprise. I was in the right neighborhood though, so maybe not so much of a surprise. I’d seen him earlier a restaurant, though I didn’t know it at the time.”

“So you found out who it is?” Sam asked.

“Found out and am at his house or should I say mansion right now.” Steve glanced around the atrium or lobby or whatever the hell this area of the house was. In the middle of the highly polished marble floor, a stone sculpture reached up to the ceiling. It looked Egyptian in design. “I have no idea who this guy is or if he’s even sane.”

“What do you mean?” 

Steve could tell that Sam had settled in for a long discussion, a conversation and analysis of what or who Steve was dealing with now. As Steve spoke, he wandered around the vast mansion. Most of the rooms were empty or nearly so. Walking down the long curved metal and glass staircase, Steve noted the vaulted ceiling, the marble floors the chrome light fixtures. Everything seemed so cool and distant. The colors were muted blues and grays with an occasional rusty red to throw the eye off. The artist in him felt off.

“I’m not sure, Sam. I’m pretty sure he’s someone they call the Moon Knight around here. Seems to be some kind of vigilante. I’m not sure what he thinks he’s doing-.”

Interrupting him, Sam asked, “Why call him a vigilante?”

Steve paused by the grand entrance and hung his head. “No reason. I guess I shouldn’t judge, considering.” He stared at the abstract painting by the door; a blast of colors in spiral form, so different than the rest of the house. “I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing. He doesn’t even have back up and he talks to himself or something.”

“Or something?”

“He has a shield that’s not a real one, but some kind of force field. I saw something that looks like claws on his wrist. I’m just not sure what the heck is going on here, Sam.” As he spoke, Steve flipped through the mail on the table near the entrance. 

_Marc Spector_

Frowning, he said, “Could you do me a favor? Could you look up a Marc – with a c- Spector for me? Maybe Wakanda’s library might have something on this guy?” The library wasn’t the brick and mortar library that Steve might have visited in his youth, but more of a technological wonder, like most things in Wakanda. It housed a wealth of information from science to culture to person data. More of a database for all of the knowledge and information stored in one place, a modern day Library of Alexandria.

“I can look.” Sam hesitated before he added, “Steve, be careful. Whoever this guy is, he’s on the radar, you know. Ross has got to be antsy about him and sending his goons your way. He’s hitting international news now, and I don’t think that’s good for you.”

“Well, Sharon already found me.”

The silence on the line was deafening and then Sam said, “What will she do?”

“She’s not turning me in; she might be a resource.”

“I could try and contact her. See what she might do with the info-.” 

Steve cut him off. “There’s no need. She actually gave me information that helped me. I’m pretty sure she’ll try and keep Ross off my scent.”

“Well the news isn’t off the scent. This guy-.”

“I know, I got him off the street early this morning. No one saw us-.”

Sam interrupted. “Steve, start thinking twenty-first century and not the 1940s. Surveillance cameras all over the place. Keep alert, all right?”

Steve inhaled and held it. Of course, Sam was right. In some ways, Steve would always be a fish out of water. He could function in the modern world, but the fact remained that not everything was second nature to him and it would never be. His life would always be grounded in a simpler time when land line telephones were rare in people’s houses and televisions an oddity. 

He would need to spend some time checking on the local news, and finding out if there were reports beyond what happened. If there were reports about him out there – he needed to know. Maybe contacting Sharon wasn’t a bad idea – but then again he’d already messed around with her life and emotions enough. He glanced back and up the long metal staircase. He wondered if his charge was doing any better – could he leave and not worry? That was out of the question. First, he needed to find out what this guy was up to, and second, the guy was hurt and he couldn’t leave him. The whole purpose of coming here was to root out what this Marc Spector planned and why he insisted on showing off a Captain America shield.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Don’t worry, Sam. Just see what you can find out in the library.” 

“Well, keep yourself safe, okay?”

Steve nodded and knew that Sam couldn’t see him. “Good night, Sam.”

“Take care.”

He hung up and felt good that he didn’t even once ask about the doctors in Wakanda and if there was any progress with Bucky. He couldn’t think about that – it was too much to consider and worry about right now. His friend was safe; what he had to worry about – who he had to worry about was upstairs in this massive, cold, empty house. 

Glancing down at himself, he cursed and then jogged back up the stairs. He needed a change of clothes and a shower – and not in that order. He went to check on his charge – Marc. He padded quietly into the room. Steve still wanted to clean him up some and do a better job bandaging and checking out his wounds. So he settled down in a chair across from the bed, waiting for Marc to wake up. It happened that he didn’t have to wait too long. 

A groan issued from the man as he turned over in the bed, blinking he gazed at Steve. His eyes looked bleary and he wrinkled up his face as he studied Steve. “You don’t have a beard.”

“We already talked about this. I do – right now I do.” He thought about the beard and the surveillance cameras. He might have to shave it off now to insure that the authorities weren’t looking for someone with a beard. It was itchy anyway and he really didn’t like it. 

“You can’t be real. What the hell are you doing out of uniform?” Marc said and he tried to get up, but his body failed him and he collapsed back onto the bed.

Steve jumped up and crossed the room, laying his hand on Marc’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever, I don’t think.” He frowned – generally Steve ran a little warm so checking this way was questionable anyhow. “Do you have a thermometer?” 

“What do you think this is- a daycare?” Marc moaned and rolled onto stomach or tried to before he aborted that action and just flopped onto his back, panting and gasping for breath.

“You need to sit up, you might have some cracked or bruised ribs, I can’t tell. It would be easier for you to breathe if you sat reclined.” Steve leaned down and cradled Marc in his arms, the closeness shouldn’t mean anything, but somehow it flushed his own cheeks. He hoped the man didn’t notice. He pulled some of the pillows from the bed and piled them high behind Marc. “There, is that better.”

Marc looked up at him, and there was an innocence to his look that wrung Steve’s heart as if the last ounce of his pain leaked out. He cleared his throat and said, “Do you want me to bandage the ribs?”

“No,” Marc said, breathy and anguished. “They’re not broken, just a little beat up. I’ve had broken ribs before, when they killed me.”

“Who killed you?” Steve said as he adjusted the blankets and found himself settled on the edge of the man’s bed. It was intimate and close and Steve couldn’t pull himself away. Marc became the gravity well of a black hole and Steve slipped further and further toward him. 

“Terrorist, Bushman. Over in the Middle East. I was-.” He stopped and looked away, to the dark corners of the room and almost seemed like he was listening to someone before he finished. “I wasn’t in with the best crowd. I’d been a news anchor man in Egypt but I fell in with the wrong crowd. Kind of made my way to the seedier part of life there.”

Stories, there were stories there, but Steve left it to lie – he could get more from Sam when he needed it. Steve glanced to the shadows and the cold crept through him. He focused instead on Marc. “So after that you became Moon Knight?”

“Something like that,” Marc said and then screwed up his face either in pain or doubt. “Listen, I know you don’t believe me. Not many people do. Most think I’m touched or addled or something. What I’m telling you is that I was pronounced dead but I rose from the dead because of the Egyptian god Khonshu. He gave me this mission.”

“What mission?”

“To serve a nobler cause than where I’d fallen into, okay?” Marc said. His irritation showed and Steve considered if he should exit, but the problem of the Moon Knight traipsing around LA with a shield held him in his spot. He started to get up, but Marc grabbed his hand and kept him in place. “I wanted to do good, you know. Like you did? Maybe I wanted to stop being a bully. I spent years being a bully, and I wanted to do something better, something good.”

“You found a way. That’s admirable, but there are risks,” Steve said – and wanted to stop because the obviousness of his observation weighed down on him. 

“I know the risks, so did you,” Marc said. “Listen, I know who you are, so you can quit with the pretending. The beard does nothing. And now they’ll probably be looking for you in a beard.” 

Steve peered over his shoulder at the large screen television sitting dark on the opposite wall of the room. “I’ve been told that.” He should check out the news, find out if he’s on the radar for law enforcement. 

Marc read his mind and said, “You can turn it on, check things out.”

Steve only shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I can-.”

The telephone on the nightstand rang and Steve shut up as if someone was listening in on their conversation. Before reaching to answer it, Marc shifted his focus to the shadowed area in the bedroom and then back to the phone. He snatched it up even though the action seemed to cost him and he answered it, “Yeah?”

Standing, Steve left the nearness of the bed and felt even more like an intruder. He should leave but his main purpose was to seek this man out and find out why he was masquerading as Captain America and get him to stop. He found out neither yet and the oddity of his reactions and his interactions drew Steve. There was something lonely about the man. It attracted Steve, loneliness did that – had a tendency to weave people together in a common bond. 

Marc dropped the phone onto the bed when he finished. “You can turn on the television, but I can tell you the locals already identified you,” Marc said. “Ross’ men will be swarming the area looking for Captain America with a beard.”

“That’s just great,” Steve said and bowed his head. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, flinching as he did it. “Sam is never going to let me live this one down. I haven’t even been in the city for forty eight hours.”

“Well, how about we get something to eat and you tell me why you’re here?” Marc said as he eased himself off of the king sized bed. “That was one of my contacts. She’s trustworthy and she’s coming over to help out.”

Steve should have argued the point, but it wasn’t his house and he wasn’t raised to be a problematic guest. “I don’t think I need any help. You need more help than I do.” He rushed across the room to stabilize Marc as he wavered on his feet.

“Thanks,” Marc said, his voice gruff and raspy as if the pain stole the air from his lungs. With a feeble attempt, he tried to extricate himself from Steve’s assistance. Steve only shook his head and helped him go to his closet where he pulled out some clothes. “You can find something in the bureau, I’m sure.” 

It took a minute for Steve to process what Marc was saying but he thanked him as Marc grasped the door frame of the closet and started to dress himself. The old blood flaked to the floor. Steve hesitated and then asked, “Do you want me to help you? Maybe a shower?” Steve bit back the words, because it sounded more like an invitation. He hoped the man would ignore it.

Marc only grumbled and told Steve to help himself. “You’re going to be here a while. There’s a city wide search for you.”

“Oh,” Steve said and he fumbled for clothes but ended up sitting on the bed, staring at the floor. 

Marc stood over him then, his hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Not everyone is meant to be undercover.”

“Can’t be undercover with a big flag on my chest,” he muttered, but then that flag had been taken away from him. He was a man without a country, a man out of time. Before he could figure out his next step because his mind felt numb like he’d only just woke up, Marc threw a few articles of clothing at him and a towel. 

“Go clean up, we’ll figure something out. Guest bathroom is down the hall. I’m gonna clean up too. Maya hates it when I look like something a rat dragged in.” Marc gestured for him to leave, but Steve regarded him, wondering if he should leave the man since he looked like he might fall over at any minute.

After a moment, Steve decided it was best to listen to Marc. He clutched the clothes and the towel to his chest and walked out of the room roaming down the hallway. The place felt like an abandoned museum. The art on the walls, the modern sculpture that lined the walls reminded Steve of armor in old castles. 

He imagined wandering the halls of this place – quiet, alone. It had the same modern feel that Wakanda had but it was devoid of any culture or heritage. It felt as if the mansion was purchased just to have a place to bed down once in a while. But why such a huge place? Steve found his way to the guest room, ignored the enormous bed, and went directly to the bathroom. He stripped and stepped into the shower, as the cold water ran to hot. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to figure out what the hell his next step should be. Maybe he should just tell this guy to lay low and to stop drawing attention to himself with the shield and the fake Captain America act. From what he understood it wasn’t even a good act – Steve never used claws or webs. He sighed and leaned against the tile. The months between Siberia and now pressed down on his shoulders, but not just the weight. Barbs, sharps and stinging, jabbed into his soul. 

Lost.

He actually felt jealous of Bucky – because he slipped away to the lands of oblivion while Steve ended up awake and dealing with the aftermath. A man without a country. That thought caused his heart to skip beats and his hands to shake. He’d always been an advocate of what it meant to be American. He’d been the sentinel of liberty, but maybe, just maybe America wasn’t the same anymore. Maybe he lost her when he downed the plane in the ice. 

A knock on the bathroom door startled him and he jerked. “Yeah?”

"Sorry, some of these wounds are deeper than I thought. I could use some help taping them up if you don't mind?" 

Steve finished up and said, “Yeah, yeah, let me dry off and I’ll be right there.”

“Okay, thanks.” 

Steve twisted the faucets off and left the heat of the shower, his shoulders shuddering a bit as he hit the cold. He dried efficiently and slung a towel around his waist. Walking into the bedroom, he stopped dead when he found Marc sitting on the bed. He hadn’t expected him to be in the room. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, is this wrong? This is wrong. Shit.” He rubbed at his face as if he had a headache and moved as if to stand. He’d obviously also taken a shower, more of the blood was gone and his dark tangles of hair was wet.

“No, no,” Steve said as he spotted the deep gash on Marc’s side. He’d seen a bit of his injuries when he cleaned him up earlier, but he hadn’t really allowed Steve to examine him. “I can do it now.” 

 

Marc handed him gauze and tape. Steve sidled onto the bed, keenly aware of his nakedness. He adjusted his own towel before considering the slice to Marc’s side. Across Marc’s torso and along his flank, ugly blues and angry reds lined his ribs and muscles. It had to hurt like hell. The cut, a deep knife wound clearly showed hand to hand combat, and Steve almost asked what the hell Marc got himself into, but bit his tongue. “You might need stitches.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You say that a lot, does it really work for you?” Steve asked as he slowly pieced together the flesh and started to position the gauze over it.

“Does that beard really work for you?” Marc asked.

“That bad, huh?” Steve said and managed to get the tape over the gauze with only eliciting a slight grunt from his patient. Being straight with the guy fell flat so Steve tried another tactic. “The beard itches like crazy. I kind of hate it.”

Marc chuckled and Steve had to put his hand against the gauze to stop the slippage of the tape. The warmth of his skin against Steve’s hand sent a shiver of excitement through Steve that he quelled. Even as Steve marveled at his own reaction, Marc was saying, “It ruins the look, you know. You got one helluva jawline. Strong, noble. I always love to look at it.”

Steve’s hands quaked, ever so slightly as he finished up. The words spun in his head but they jumbled and wove into knots he couldn’t discern. “Love to look at?”

Marc looked him right in the eyes – the intensity nearly took Steve’s breath away. “Yes. Always, Captain.”

“You don’t know me,” Steve said and his hands dropped into his lap, useless but needy.

“I do. I know that you only wanted to do good, all of your life. I know that you set an example for the rest of us. That you make me want to do good, that this mission I’m on from a lost Egyptian god should be ludicrous for someone like me, a Jew with a family history that goes back to Nazi concentration camps. But you make me believe that even I – someone who lost their way and stumbled and fell – fell so far I can’t even confess it to you – that even I can do good. I know you, Captain. We all do.” The words cascaded over Steve – so many meanings, and by ways, and pathways to follow in them that he could easily lose himself. 

“I made mistakes, I’m not perfect.”

Marc reached up and, for one hopeful moment Steve thought he might cradle his cheek, but instead his hand only remained perched in the air like a promise and then fell away. “You hold yourself to a standard that we all should try and achieve.”

“The Avengers are no more. Well not like they used to be,” Steve said and now he had to get up. Move. He walked a dangerous path now, even as he moved about the room. “A lot of that is because of me.”

“And Stark. We all know that Stark sold you out to Ross. A lot of us on the streets don’t really agree with him, you know.” Marc watched him pace the room. 

“You don’t know the half of it. I made mistakes, so did he. It’s not as simple as it sounds,” Steve said and a chill came over him so that he shivered outright. The moments in Siberia – fresh and painful – seeing Tony out for vengeance, to kill Bucky – he never thought he would see such blind rage from someone he called a friend – not like that. Part of him thanked God he hadn’t seen Tony’s face until the bitter end. He’d only seen it when he torn the helmet away, when he cracked it and threw it to the side, because he wanted to show Tony – see his eyes when he finally ended it – when he finally drew the shield down into the arc reactor. Even then Tony didn’t know him, he’d put his hands up to guard against a fatal blow from Steve. Tony had said they were friends – but Tony didn’t know that Steve would never do a killing blow – not to a friend, not to family. How could this man, this Marc Spector understand and know Steve so much better than someone like Tony Stark? It startled and intrigued Steve.

Marc stood up and grasped his shoulder, could feel the quake of his body. The tremble continued and Steve didn’t know if it was due to the chill in the air, his own fears, or something else, something more primal that burned in his gut when he stood this close to Marc. What came over him, Steve wasn’t sure.

“It’s all right, you have friends here. We’ll figure this out.”

“I’m not even sure what we’re trying to figure out. I came here to stop you, to help you,” Steve said and he suddenly realized just how wrong he was. The tables turned and he sat in hot seat – everything depended on Marc – a stranger to Steve, yet somehow someone Steve welcomed. 

“Well, I guess, right now, you’re going to have to trust me. And believe me when I say that I know you. I trust you, and you will always be Captain America to me.”

INTERLUDE 3: Romance under Duress  
_That was kind of romantic._

As he walked back to his room, Spiderman trailed after him. Marc closed his eyes and tried to will the phantom of his mind away. He needed to focus, to have some clarity, crystalline and bright. Right now, Captain America, the real deal, – Steve Rogers – was in his house and the damned Secretary of State might just be signaling an all-out search for the hero. That was not going to happen on Marc’s watch, not while he still had breath in him or the spirit of Khonshu as his guide. 

_Don’t go over the top, there. Ain’t no god hanging around here._

Marc swept past Wolverine and then spun around looking for Captain – his Captain, the ghost of his mind. Only Spiderman and Wolverine hovered close to him, to give him advice, to help him make decisions. That couldn’t be good. “Shit, where is he?”

Spiderman only shrugged. _Maybe he doesn’t need to be here, when like, he’s actually here._

That made no sense, but he’d have to take it as reality, because Marc felt off kilter and un-dimensional, as if a part of him had gone missing. He thought about taking another shower, but what good would that do him. He went to the closet, pulled out more clothes. Clothes piled on the floor and he only stepped over them. The mess could wait. He needed to find out more about what Maya, his friend and sometimes vigilante partner, had said. She told him that according to the word the street, early this morning, Captain America – aka Steve Rogers – had been surveilled in LA helping the Moon Knight. If Steve Rogers ended up in trouble because of him, Marc would never be able to forgive himself. Damn the whole insufferable Ultron parts ring.

Sure he put the whole thing with Nefarius to bed, but that was before – he stopped and panted as the memories filtered back in pieces. Shit. Echo – Maya was dead. “Dead.” Wolverine killed Captain America- Spiderman and Wolverine were dead, too. He sank to his knees. What the hell?

_Don’t do this to yourself._

He glanced up to see his Captain – his own projection of Captain America standing there, ready to guide him again. But it couldn’t be – everything after the capture of Nefaria went to hell. His brain shattered. He even has a vague recollection of Tony Stark visiting him and telling him he did a good job. That he should sign the Accords.

“What the hell?”

_That’s not a memory, Marc. It’s a prophecy._

“What?” That never happened before – he never saw the future. He couldn’t let the real Steve Rogers see him like this – couldn’t allow him to know how fucked up in the head he was. “What’s real?”

Spiderman knelt down next to him as Captain America stepped aside. _Think about it, Marc. You’ll figure it out._

He talked to Maya on the phone, so that meant Echo couldn’t possibly be dead. A warning; the god of the moon, gave him a warning. Could it be that Nefaria would play an act that would kill Echo, that could harm Steve Rogers. In his vision, Captain America died – but it was his Captain and not the real Captain. 

“Christ.” He was confused. He needed to get his head on straight. One thing at a time. Get the facts down and learn from them. But this vision might be a warning or an omen of what could happen to the real Captain, if Marc didn’t figure it out.

 _That’s right, that’s how you do it. Plan it out._ His Captain said.

“Okay, okay.” Facts – what were they? He’d been hunting down Ultron parts. Nefaria – the kingpin of LA was seeking an Ultron head. Which Marc had found and given to his associate Buck to figure out. Maya was alive. But Steve Rogers – the real deal – showed up during one of Moon Knight’s take downs of Nefaria’s crew. Steve Rogers saved him and brought him back to his mansion. But now the Secretary of State and the whole of the UN might be coming down to bear on them. The one thing demanding Marc’s attention – the manhunt for Steve Rogers. 

“That is what I have to deal with – everything else can be put aside,” Marc said. 

_Keep your eyes open, though. Never know when something is gonna strike._ Wolverine always tended to be negative about plans. He always wanted to go in head first without testing the depth of the problem. 

“One problem at a time,” Marc said and then the doorbell rang. He adjusted his shirt, the slash to his side stung but he swallowed the pain down. One of the perks of being enshrouded by the god Khonshu, he could take pain better than the average Joe. He left the bedroom and started down the staircase to answer the door. He didn’t see Steve Rogers anywhere and for a long moment he thought maybe he’d imagined the real deal – but then as he crossed the vestibule, he caught a glimpse of the man standing in his front room. He’d shaven and put on one of the t-shirts with Marc’s television show’s logo and a nice pair of jeans. 

Steve smiled at him as he stroked his clean jaw. “It itched.”

“Looks a lot better,” Marc said and he swore he saw the slightest flush of red on the Captain’s cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 4  
Observing Marc interact with his friend and confidant Maya ended up being something of a learning experience for Steve. The first thing that Maya did when she appeared at the door to Marc’s mansion was to zero in on Steve as if he might be an intruder in need of having his ass beat to hell and back. She studied Steve and then turned back to Marc. Her eyes astute, her long dark hair falling over her face, she said, “So you conjured him up or what?”

“He kind of dropped in on my last act.” Marc ushered them into his kitchen – which happened to be massive and reminded Steve of the kitchen in Tony’s penthouse in the Tower. It wasn’t like the small kitchen that opened up to the living space in the Avengers facility, but the personal one Tony had in New York.

Large, up to date, stunning and so many gadgets that Steve wouldn’t even know where to start or what half of them did. The marble countertops gleamed in the new day light, as did the beautiful white cupboards. The glass backsplash and then chrome fixtures seemed to echo a little of Marc’s alter ego. Everything was a smoke gray and white. Steve walked into the open space and Marc pointed to the stools near the center island. 

Maya eyed Steve but slipped onto a stood two over from him. He didn’t want to intrude on her personal space so he sat on the one on the edge. Marc busied himself in the kitchen, searching a little before getting coffee ready and then asking them if they wanted anything to eat.

“I’m good,” Maya said. It had been a long morning and Steve was hungry, but he felt out of place requesting something to eat. Maya read him well and said, “On the other hand, I could use something, what do you have?” 

Marc opened up the refrigerator that looked like it belonged in a restaurant – it was that big. But it was also pretty empty. He pulled out Chinese take-out. “Take out, leftovers, is that good?”

“It’ll do.” Maya nodded while Steve agreed. Marc went about warming up the food. He poured them both coffee. All the while Maya kept shifting her gaze to Steve and then back to Marc – it was a little unnerving. “Don’t worry about it. I’m deaf. I have to read your lips.”

“Oh, oh,” Steve said and, flustered, began to gesture a little to emphasize his point. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I was just-.”

Marc joined them at the island counter and grabbed Steve’s hands. Grasping them he said, “Maya didn’t ask for Captain America style signing. Just look at her when you talk – that’s all you have to do.”

Steve glanced down at their interlocked hands, and, for one long moment, allowed himself to hold on, to feel the warmth. It had been so long that a touch didn’t mean pain, or loss. When was the last time he’d touched in kindness or softness? This wasn’t even that, but it connected him. As he looked up he met Marc’s eyes and the same hunger resided there. It spooked Steve and he snatched his hand away, embarrassed, ashamed of his need for connection, for human interaction, for something more than wishful thinking. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Steve mumbled and then realized again he’d made a mistake. Turning to look at Maya, he repeated, “I’m sorry. I’m normally not this terrible at talking to people. Usually pretty awful, but not this awful.”

She laughed, and the sound rang like bells in the air. He couldn’t help but smile back, though he knew she’d come over to talk about the recent events. Personally, he wanted to forget things for a while. Even though he assigned himself a mission, every once in a while he wanted to pretend. Long ago, he’d told Tony he was home when he ended up at the Avengers facility in Upstate New York. That was his home, his center, his gravity. But now, he felt drawn to something else, something deep, and special, and potent. His gaze drifted to Marc as he puttered about the kitchen. 

“So you’re here for a reason, and I think it’s not good,” Maya said and then added, “And forget about denying who you are; at this point it’s kind of ridiculous to try.”

“Okay.” Steve shrugged because what else could he do? He faced Maya directly, figuring that Marc could follow the conversation easily enough. “I’m here because there’s someone running around LA impersonating me – or should I say who I used to be.”

“You’re Captain America, no one can deny that,” Marc commented as he pulled out the takeout cartons from the microwave. He hissed after burning his fingers. “No one can ever take that away from you.”

“Well, I dropped the shield. I gave it up. You don’t know the whole story,” Steve said and part of it he knew that Maya missed what he’d said because he did look at Marc. The pain of walking away, of dropping that shield pierced him anew. It hurt and the ghost of the feeling would never leave him. How those lasting minutes with Tony and Bucky in that bunker changed and transformed his entire life. How he became defined by the shield and could not define himself as anything other than Captain America. It was true, what Sam worried about constantly. That Steve Rogers was a man without a country and a man without a time, and a man without. That’s how he saw himself – a man without. 

“I don’t need to know the whole story,” Marc replied as he sidelong glanced into the open area behind the kitchen. It was an open concept where the kitchen led straight into the family room. His eyes seemed to focus beyond Steve, behind him. “I know who Captain America is.” His gaze snapped to Steve. “And that’s you – it will always be you. I don’t care if they give that shield to fucking Tony Stark – it’s yours it always will be.”

Steve cringed at Tony’s name – at the thought of Tony. Tony had the shield, he’d gone back to the facility. He was an Avenger by name and by action. Steve wasn’t, he supposed. An Avenger had to sign the Accords – Steve would never do that. He’d seen what happened when groups were singled out, set aside as Other. He had no worries about himself, how could he? With his strength and his capabilities, he was the pinnacle of what the Accords set as ‘us’. But the thought of Wanda as a weapon of mass destruction – as Other. It chilled him. He lived through and fought in a war defined by a villain of a man who placed labels as other. And no matter what safeguards could be put in place, the idea that the United Nations or any institute could be taken over by a tyrant – _a simple vote could do that_ – it stopped him and he would never turn back. He would never sign the Accords, even if it meant becoming a man without.

“It’s nice of you to say,” Steve said and ensured that Maya could see him speaking. “But the story’s complicated and the Accords are in place.” He couldn’t deny reality.

“And you’re not fighting them anymore?” Maya asked. Marc settled across from them. He’d placed the plates in front of them and then pulled a stool to sit as well. 

“I can’t put my team in that kind of danger. The people have spoken. I’m not going to change who I am, I’m not going to change my definition of freedom or what it takes to defend that – but right now, I have to ensure everyone’s safety.” He felt like he was giving up and it ached in his chest. Maybe someday he would have an answer, a way to change things. He couldn’t give up the good fight, could he?

“You don’t have to just roll over,” Maya said and Marc snapped at her.

“He’s not rolling over. He’s an excellent strategist. What’s the next move, Captain?” Marc said and, for an instant, Steve didn’t think he was actually talking to him.

He tried to clear his head of the melancholy and just focus on the present. “Right now, I need to know why the hell you’re running around with some version of the Captain America shield and acting like a vigilante-.”

“Well, I would think you would enjoy that, because let’s face it – that’s what you are now – if you decide to come back to the fight,” Maya smirked and started to eat. She only picked at the food, though.

Steve dug into the food. He hadn’t eaten in a while and he was starving. “I understand that. But I don’t want more people getting hurt because of it. I plan on protecting and being there to serve, but I don’t want more people put in harm’s way.” Just saying that made him feel better in some aspects, but he had no concrete plans. Not yet.

Marc sipped his coffee and barely ate any of the food. “What would you say if I told you that your little foray into killer robots didn’t stop at ending the world wide extinction event?” 

Steve furrowed his brows and shook his head. “What?”

“Yeah, those Ultron parts – you know the ones. They were all over the place. Well, a lot of them ended up on the black market and some of them have been appearing in LA. Someone here, a kingpin is assembling an Ultron with the goal – we think – of – well, we don’t know.”

“How come I don’t know this?” Maya asked Marc.

“Because you hit me in the face too much,” Marc replied. “Buck’s been checking things out for me.”

“Buck?” Steve said and the hollowness echoed in his bones.

“Yeah, Buck Lime, my guy. Not your guy.” Marc finished his coffee. “He’s looking into the Ultron head we found. Look, if someone is assembling an Ultron how bad is that?”

Steve recalled the odd moment that Ultron appeared from Tony’s lab, disrupting their after party. The high pitched noise, the grotesque puppet like body, the grin laced with malice all still haunted his sleep. “Well, it’s anything but good.”

“That’s what I thought,” Marc said. “So we are cleaning house, figuring out how to take this guy down with his crew.”

“Do you have a lead to find him?” Maya asked. 

“Some, but what’s more troubling is that Buck informed me last night that we have more issues coming in the country,” Marc said and he spied the area behind Steve.

For a second, Steve almost looked behind him but he kept focused on the conversation and the task. “Coming in? Where and how?”

“From what I heard there’s a guy out of Africa, name’s Ulysses Klaue. Or something like that.”

“It’s Klaue, I know him.”

“He seems to be collecting all of the pieces and selling them. Our kingpin here – Nefaria – at least we think it’s Nefaria is buying up as much as he can to make an army or something,” Marc said. “Don’t know where Klaue is getting the parts from.”

“That’s ominous.” This would be easier if he was an Avenger, if he could call on his friends. Hope for help. “I’m not sure we have any help on this one.”

“No shit,” Maya said. “Right now, we think that the cops might be paid off by Snapdragon, one of Nefaria’s main officers. If the cops aren’t listening, then we don’t have a way to put the lid on it. Not easily at least.”

“Well, could you go to the source?” Steve asked. “If you have part of the Ultron this kingpin is looking for, then destroy it and let him know it. He’ll go to the source of the robot parts and -.”

“And we’ll beat him there,” Marc said and practically shined with enthusiasm. “I have to say, it is a thrill watching you work in real life.”

“As opposed to?” Maya said and tilted her head at Marc. His expression darkened and Steve felt as if the shadows in the living space behind him shifted, ruffled and upset by her words. He did glance then, just to make sure, just to check and see if he was imagining everything. The room stately, sterile, remote and reflected only emptiness back at him. 

“So that’s a plan. Are you willing to help us?” Marc asked and he beamed like a child in a candy store. 

Steve finished up his breakfast of leftover Chinese takeout food. Thank heaven that the serum gave him an iron constitution when it came to dealing with odd and old food. His gut wouldn’t have thanked him before Project Rebirth. “I didn’t come here to join a crusade. I came to stop you from getting in trouble.” It still felt odd saying that, not joining into the good fight.

“And you also alerted just about everyone from here to DC that you are back on American soil,” Maya said. She slipped off the stool and walked to the living room. Switching on the television that was plastered to the wall above the stone fireplace, she flicked through the channels until she landed on CNN. 

He grimaced. All he needed was for his face to be on a major news network and Sharon see it. He promised her he wouldn’t screw this up – but it looked like he already did. How would Tony react – shit, how would his crew back in Wakanda react? Steve hadn’t even been gone a week yet. 

“Here it is,” Marc said as Maya turned on the closed captioning. 

_Breaking News – Last night it was reported that the vigilante known only as Moon Knight was captured on surveillance video near the scene of an explosion in Los Angeles near Hollywood._

Steve almost breathed a sigh of relief until the images appeared on the screen. A blurred image of Moon Knight being helped by another figure – that’s Steve. He cringed. This was not good. Sam would not be happy, neither would Sharon. He crossed the room to stand in front of the television, aware of both Maya and Marc by his side. 

_From the footage obtained exclusively by CNN, it appears that someone helped Moon Knight escape the burning wreckage. Analysis of the footage is still preliminary, but authorities believe it may be the fugitive and former Avenger, Steve Rogers._

He sank down onto the sofa. It was soft and comfortable – too comfortable for him as he listened but didn’t look at the television screen.

_The Avengers have not made an official statement, but sources say that Iron Man himself aka Tony Stark may be on his way to Los Angeles to hunt down and arrest his ex-team mate, Steve Rogers who formerly went by the name Captain America_

Tony – Steve dropped his head and cradled his face in his hands. Oh how the mighty have fallen. He shivered, not from the chill outside, but from the ice that should have claimed him years ago, should have taken him and devoured his flesh and petrified him. 

_Word from DC is that Secretary Ross has consulted with LA police and has mobilized the military in the area, asking them to bring in the former Captain America. The orders are dead or alive._

Ross would do that – issue orders to kill him. He wasn’t surprised, just disappointed that it had gotten this far. He wanted to believe that Tony would never agree to those orders and that it was probably why Tony was on his way to California even now. There were times Tony could be unreasonable, irrational, but Steve still understood that Tony was a genius. He knew that Steve held one secret – where his parents’ killer was. Tony would never let anyone murder Steve until he knew where Bucky was. 

Marc grabbed the remote from Maya and the screen turned dark. Steve looked up at him and the pain spreading through Steve’s chest painted across the man’s face. “No one is going to hurt you. No one.” Before Steve could say anything, Marc asked, “Where are you staying?”

“A hostel,” Steve muttered and then gave Marc the address. “My rental car is at a garage not far from there.”

“Did you leave anything in the rental car that might link it to you?”

Steve shook his head. “No.”

“Maya, could you go to the hostel, pay his bill, and then clean out his room?”

“I could, sure?” Maya said but she wasn’t about to move until he explained his plan. She stood there, waiting while Steve felt the ice of his memories creep over him like a barbed vine. It crawled up through him freezing him in place and whispering to him how he should have just stayed under the cold waters. A blast of memories of the Raft came back to him and he shuddered. Even though his team had ended up there, he still had dark memories of the place. He would go there, he knew it. If he survived he would end up back where he belonged.

He couldn’t put more people at risk. Standing, he said, “No, I don’t want more people at risk. This is my fight-.”

“Don’t even try it, Steve. This isn’t just your fight. What is it, how many years is it since you haven’t been involved in a fight? Right now, we’re going to deal with this. I have resources. You sit, we’ll figure this out.” Marc motioned to Maya and they left the living room, went straight through the kitchen and into a side hallway that Steve had no idea where it went. 

He considered leaving; just disappearing. He could do that – how would anyone even find him? Yet, the ice of his past kept him, transformed him. Was he any longer a hero? A warrior for the American ideal? Or was he simply a man without? His homeland had become something different, something so transformed by fear and ignorance he couldn’t recognize it, couldn’t wear it’s flag across his chest. He was a man without, he should leave. Something stopped him, something that haunted his vision and lingered like a caress upon his skin. He didn’t want to leave his homeland, he didn’t want to run – not now. 

So he stood his ground and waiting until Marc returned. The man looked frantic, as if something worse might be coming at them. Marc glanced at Steve as he walked into the kitchen from the side hallway. He didn’t speak but seemed intense as if he was listening to something like a radio or an earpiece. He poured himself another cup of coffee and then finally gave his attention to Steve.

“Maya and Buck are going to clean out the hostel, clean up any tracks you made.”

“Not much I was only at the border, the hostel, the garage, and the hot dog place.” He said nothing about meeting Sharon there, or what he might have said to her. He didn’t know if Marc had been there when he was talking to Sharon, but the fact remained – she was a loose thread.

That brought a smile to Marc’s face. “Pinks, best place in town. Guess we won’t be going there for lunch.”

“No,” Steve said and hung his head. “I’m sorry I brought this all on you.” Looking up, he added, “You don’t need my troubles on top of the whole Ultron thing. Seems the Avengers have disrupted your life.”

Marc made another cup of coffee and walked over to the living room with both mugs. He put one on the table for Steve and then settled in the deep mahogany sectional. Steve took it as an invitation and picked up the mug. Sitting he turned to Marc. 

“This disruption-.” 

Marc stopped him. “My life has been a disruption all along. I’m not a conventional man, Steve. I haven’t led a life that is going from point A to point B in one direction. It’s taken me quite a while to get to where I am, wanting to do good. Part of the reason I’m here is because of you.”

“Don’t tell me you collected Captain America cards, too,” Steve said and drank down the coffee. It had a slight hazelnut flavor and, while flavored coffee these days threw him most of the time, the hint was truly masterful. 

“Not really, though at one time in my life I went by the name Steven Grant.”

Steve nearly choked on the coffee and, as it was, had to struggle not to spit it up all over the beautiful couch. He wiped his mouth as Marc chuckled. “You what?”

“Let’s just say, I’ve changed. In many ways I’m like your man Stark; he went from a warmonger to whatever the hell he is now, a hero to many? I tried to change my ways. And I am damned lucky that I ended up dead in the middle of the Egyptian desert. Otherwise, I don’t know how far I would have sunk,” Marc said and then fell into silence.

Steve didn’t know how to respond. Not all of the information was there, not laid out. But it seemed that Marc truly wanted to do good, was actually cleaning up after the debacle of Ultron – something that the Avengers – his team should have looked into and done. Something that caused more heart ache and problems – that led to the horrible Accords and Ross after him. He sighed and said, “I know this isn’t what you need to be doing now.”

Even as he tried to get up again, Marc reached out and clasped his hand to hold him to his seat. Like a magnet he was draw to it, captured by it. “We’ll figure it out.” 

“You shouldn’t have to handle the Ultron situation by yourself, that’s Avengers business.” Steve said and longed to grasp the hand laid over his, but he didn’t. He gazed at it, the human touch he longed for seemed to vibrate through his soul. “I’d like to think I learned that much.”

“Captain, Steve, you are not the world, you are not the sole protector of the world. Let that go. We have your back,” Marc said and then he moved and Steve almost tried to hold him back, keep him on the couch. “We can deal with your situation and then the Ultron stuff. We’re in that for the long run. First thing, we have to figure out if Ross is on the move or if your friend Iron Man is hunting for you.”

Again the whirlwind of how this mission fell apart so easily slammed into him and he exhaled, so very exasperated and exhausted. “I’m sorry, I just – I’m normally better at planning out things.” He thought of the months that passed – how he traced the halls of the palace in Wakanda like a phantom. Never touching, never interacting. “I’m not usually like this.”

Marc considered him and his eyes were kind and tender and understanding in their sympathy. “You’ve lost a lot. Has anyone ever asked you to take a moment to breathe? In the last few years what’s happened to you and life.” He cringed a bit as if he’d heard a loud screeching noise and then gave a sidelong glance to the shadows of the room. “Come on, we’re here for a while. We need a distraction.”

“I need to work.”

“No, you need a distraction.” Marc stood up and invited Steve to follow – so he did because he felt unanchored. “This way.” 

They made their way to the lower floor which was not a basement – not in any definition of the word that Steve understood. In the lower floor there was a workshop, a massive amount of books – which sang to Steve’s heart. He loved books and felt a depressing hole in his chest when he thought of how the internet had replaced the feel and touch of them. 

They passed another television viewing area that looked more like a private theater. As they walked toward the back of the house, they passed a workout room that Steve assumed was their destination, but Marc surprised him and they continued to the last room – which had the feel of a sunroom with its bank of windows and skylights. Placed in the room was a pool table, a sound system, and a bar.

“I can’t get drunk,” Steve said and even that fact depressed him to a degree. 

“Who said anything about getting drunk?” Marc said and he went to get the cues for the pool table. “How about we just relax and play a game or two?” He handed Steve a cue and some chalk. “You can break.”

“I don’t think this is wise – I mean we have the-.” The jitters, the need to do something strummed through Steve.

“You have Ross on your ass, Iron Man coming to take you away, and you are sitting at my house. You are not in any danger. I have my people on it. You’re going to be okay.” He smiled and it invited Steve to draw a breath, to ease away from the troubles of the world.

He accepted the cue and walked to the table. “It’s been so long.”

“Since you played?”

“No, since I haven’t worried.”

Marc smirked at him. “Captain, men like us were made to worry.” 

Steve couldn’t help but agree. He leaned over the table, readying the cue and then looked up to Marc. The man shared a smile with him as Steve broke.

INTERLUDE 4: The Breakdown of Heroes

He knew it was crazy to play pool of all things right now, in the middle of an undeclared war. His suggestion was naïve and careless, but it was also measured and purposeful. He’d asked Buck to hunt down any leads on the street that might give them a heads up on Ross. Before they played this game of cat and mouse, where the mouse was holed up, Marc had already requested that Buck look into the actions of the Secretary of State. Cracking into secure systems was always dicey, but searching for dirt – that was something else. Buck, being an ex-agent of SHIELD came in handy sometimes.

The good part of it was that he’d already found out that Ross had no plans to actually kill Captain America. That even though the command was issued as dead or alive, Ross planned on reviving a dead Captain America and bringing him somewhere called the Raft. That whole thing – whatever it was – happened to be murky, according to Buck. With Maya and Buck cleaning up Steve’s trail, Marc had no doubt that they were safe. Now he needed a plan of action. He also needed a moment alone.

“Steve, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back,” Marc said and he went to the bathroom across the hallway from the pool room. He locked the door and went to the sink, turning on the water and letting it run. He looked up into the mirror and his companions were there. 

It was his Captain who spoke first, who stepped forward. _You need to get him to safety._

“I’m trying.”

_Listen, bub, I’m not the roses and kisses kind of guy. Rainbows don’t exist in my world. But I know a dying soul when I see one. You gotta do more than get him out of town. You have to reach him._

Spiderman nodded his head in agreement with Wolverine, and when Marc looked over to his Captain, a grim expression greeted him.

_He’s falling and only you can save him._

Marc knew that feeling of falling, of being isolated and alone. He spent his life that way. “Moon Knight to the rescue,” Marc whispered and that’s when everyone else but his Captain faded away. 

_No, Marc, not Moon Knight. You._

He leaned down and threw some of the water onto his face and shuddered as it hit him. It wasn’t too hot or too cold, but the touch shocked him. When he thought of Steve everything in his head juddered to a stop. For the last year or so, he depended on his alter ego to guide him through, to be someone, something other than Marc. Marc Spector had been a mercenary, an investigative reporter who ended up using his position for his own good, a badass but not a good man. Never a good man. Moon Knight changed all of that, his companions helped to transform him. How could someone like him help someone like Steve Rogers?

A paragon.

A knock on the door stopped him. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay? I heard the water running for a while?” Steve asked. 

Twisting the faucets, he shut off the water and stuttered a reply, “Y-yeah, yeah I’m-I’m just fine. I’ll be out in a minute.” He looked at his dripping face in the mirror. He knew what his mission was from Khonshu – too make the world a better place. But what if that place – what if it turned on one of its own, one of its best men? What was there anything left to defend?

He pulled the towel from the rack and wiped the water away. Opening the door, he found Steve standing there with a pensive look on his face. Steve studied him and then said, “Are you sure you’re okay? I think this is too stressful. I should leave, I’m putting you in danger.”

“No, you’re not going anywhere. Come on upstairs. I have some tech that can be of use,” Marc said. His planning was nothing like a strategist and everything like someone going with his gut. Abandoning the idea of relaxing seemed the right thing to do – even though they’d only played one game of pool so far. 

He wasn’t going to pull out all the stops- all of his resources- but maybe it was time. “I know you just want to leave, that you think you’re a burden to me.” As they climbed the stairs, Marc continued to fill the space between them as if he constructed a bridge. “But sometimes, you gotta let others give you a hand.”

They went to an office on the main floor that was nearly empty but it was also Marc’s main headquarters for his Moon Knight operation – well, if he didn’t count Buck’s place. He had a bank of computers on one side of his office – nothing much else. So he went to them and called up the newest data on Steve Rogers. “Not much in the last hour or so. But let me check my other sources.”

“Other sources?”

“I have ties to seedier places in the world,” Marc said and he found his way to those other places in the world. Finally, he cleared through some firewalls and read through the data, keenly aware of the man standing beside him. “Ross isn’t giving up. He’s looking for you and he wants you. He might say dead or alive – that’s just to scare the public. To be frightened of you and your radical views. What he really wants is you alive.”

“And in the Raft,” Steve said and it surprised Marc that none of what he was learning disturbed him. Steve seemed to read his mind and shrugged. “It’s not a surprise.”

“And the Raft?” 

“Best you don’t know,” Steve said. “Can you tell if he has any idea of where I am?”

Marc went through all of the surveillance video from the explosion – could it have been only this morning? “There’s a lot on dark sites – internet sites that the government doesn’t know about. But what they’re saying right now is that they don’t have data on either of us leaving the scene. Which would be good, I parked the Jag where no surveillance cameras would catch sight of me. So we have that working on our side.”

“But for how long?” Steve asked.

“Long enough. I’m working to book you passage out of town, but that might take a while. Buck’s got some contacts-.” 

“I still think we need to discuss the whole Ultron thing and what to do there,” Steve added. 

Marc turned them and looked him in the eye, straight and true. “You never stand down, do you? When was the last time you took care of you? When was the last time you thought of your own safety over someone else’s?”

Steve looked down and away as if he didn’t deem himself worthy of such a concept. “That’s not the way it works.” 

Marc didn’t think, didn’t consider – he reached out and placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. It throttled through him like a freight train, touching this man who had haunted his life, his dreams, his waking moments. But he couldn’t stop touching, something sparked and lived between them. He couldn’t answer to what it might be. 

Steve looked up, didn’t shy from the touch, and actually stepped forward in an involuntary motion. Like Icarus toward the sun. 

Marc asked him then, “How, how does it work then? It works that you fight, and fight, and fight until you drop? No, you might have done that when the world was filled with Nazis but not now-.”

“The world is always filled with Nazis – just by different names.”

“And others sometimes have to take care of it, Steve. It’s time – you said you dropped that shield. And while every molecule in my body says that shield will always define you, be yours, I can also say that you deserve better from your fellow man, fellow woman. You deserve respect. Not a warrant. Not a crazed man coming after you-.” Marc shook his head. He couldn’t stop holding onto Steve. Steve gravitated toward him, leaned into him. A hunger shared. 

He came back to himself with a start and shifted away from Marc. “I don’t know if there’s time. There’s never time.”

“Just jumping from one crisis to the next?” Marc said but tried not to feel empty and lost as Steve drifted over to the windows in the bare office. Marc continued working his way through the data stream he accessed. After a minute, he said, “It looks like the underbelly of LA is jittering about the Ultron head being destroyed. Buck must have put the rumors out and he’ll plant some evidence.” 

Steve had his hands in his pockets as he looked out on the highway below and the ocean beyond. “That’s good. Do you think it will convince your kingpin?”

Marc went back to the computer console. He had a job to do. “It will throw him off for a while. He’ll spend time looking to gather evidence and then looking for a new source of Ultron parts – so that will help out,” Marc said as he clicked through the information. “But we can head him off and we can also get you out of here.”

That captured Steve’s attention. “What do you mean?”

“You want out, you also want to save the world – well, I found a way, my dear Captain.”

Steve smiled and, for the first time, Marc realized he’d designated this living and breathing version of Captain America as ‘his’. Glancing around the room toward the shadows, he heard nothing in his head, nothing to refute the fact. And then he met Steve Rogers’ eyes and he knew the truth of it.

CHAPTER 5  
Steve’s mind rattled like an old subway car on its tracks. Even as he watched Marc work at his command station, his anxiety grew. 

From the computer console, Marc said, "I'll order some dinner, soon. You have any preferences?"

Steve only shook his head. He felt oddly out of sync with the world. Like everyone else was dancing to a different tune. It wouldn't be the first time he felt like he couldn't dance, and would step on people's feet. "Whatever you'd like. I'm pretty open."

Marc narrowed his eyes and scrutinized him. "Are you even going to be able to eat? You look a little green."

"Like I said, I'm not the type to sit idle." He'd been sitting and watching as Marc tried to map out ways for Steve to leave the city, leave the country without detection. At times, he felt like an intruder. Yet, it intrigued him to observe as Marc muttered to himself, seemed to answer in low grunts. The way he worked, Steve would bet he actually had team mates, people he consulted and discussed the mission with. Every now and again, his face would twist as if in pain and then he would focus back on his task at the computer. 

It was so familiar but different. Steve had enough experience with Tony, with Bruce, even with Natasha at the helm of a computer to know when to keep quiet and allow the savvy one in the room to do the work. As a team leader, Steve learned to delegate but to carefully manage. Being part of the Avengers, the burden of responsibility had always fallen on his shoulders. This extended back to his days as the leader of the Howling Commandoes – Steve didn’t know how not to lead – not anymore. It had been decades since he relied on anyone else to take care of him. Even then Bucky had to shake the sense into him and force Steve to allow him to help, to assist, to punch out another guy in the back alley as Steve took on the evil of the world. In some ways, Steve had always been cut from a mold to punch Nazis in the face, to defeat the evil of the world, to stand up for the little guy. He would never be someone different – not in any other world nor any other time. 

Thus the afternoon had lengthened and Steve had found himself more and more antsy as he waited to find out what Marc’s great plan might be to take out the Ultron issue at the same time providing Steve with a way out of town. At one point during the mid- afternoon Steve excused himself and went to the workout room in the basement. He couldn’t be so inactive. As he considered the punching bag, he pulled out his phone, took a breath, and took the chance.

After two rings the phone was answered. “Hello?”

“Sharon?”

“This is a mistake. You shouldn’t call me,” she said.

“Not secure?”

“No, we’re good, but I like plausible deniability.” 

He frowned but could understand her point. Eventually they would find him at Pinks – it was only a matter of time and then link her to him. “I should hang up.”

“No, I wanted to tell you. Ross is getting close. The scuttle isn’t good. He wants you in the Raft, whatever the news reports. The real orders are shoot to disable.”

“We figured,” he said.

“We?” Sharon exhaled. “Whatever you’re doing you have to get out, Steve. I can’t help you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he stopped, considered, and then added, “Not really. I thought maybe you could try and stop Tony.”

“The Avengers are way out of my playbook. Ross calls the shots.”

“And Tony’s happy with that?” Steve said and couldn’t believe that Tony – of all people – would be willingly acquiesce to a government force. But then again the Accords were all about that, regardless of how much Steve thought Tony had been blinded by his own guilt. 

“Not that I heard,” Sharon replied. “You have to get out. I can slow things down, a little but not without getting unwanted attention thrown my way. Since things are heating up around here, they are starting to ask questions.”

“So, they’re going to eventually track your movements,” Steve said and hated himself. Not only had he promised Sharon something he knew he would never give her now, he put her in danger. “Can you get out?” Should he go to her?

“Don’t worry about me, I have a few tricks up my sleeve and a few people I can call on. Hill is always resourceful.”

“Thanks for the help,” Steve said. 

“Watch out for yourself,” Sharon said and she hung up before he could add anything else. He stared at the phone for several minutes. She’d risked a lot when she contacted him at Pinks. She was trying to help, knowing what it might do. How could he sit on his hands much longer? He needed to find a way to keep being the person he was inside, the good person he was. How could he not? How could he stay a man without?

He turned to the punching bag, and beat at the bag for a solid hour until Marc had walked in on him. He hadn’t wrapped his hands – it didn’t matter he’d heal, but he felt mildly embarrassed that he’d stained the bag.

“Sorry,” Steve said as Marc caught the bag to stop it. Steve stared at the bloody smears and felt like his heart might just stop. He remembered the blood from that last fight, the fight in Siberia. Like the bag stained in front of him, that fight stained his life. It changed everything until he no longer had a reason, a definition.

“Stop beating yourself up,” Marc said and reached over to Steve – the gesture was strange but Steve didn’t stop him. Marc took hold of Steve’s hand and rotated it so he could look at the torn skin on the knuckles. It would be healed in a matter minutes. Marc stroked his hand. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but a lot of people look up to you. You help a lot of people do better, do good.”

“I’m not something special, Marc. I’m just -.” He couldn’t even say it anymore – a kid from Brooklyn. He was no longer a kid; his innocence had been ripped away from him and he wasn’t from Brooklyn – not really, not anymore. He was from nowhere now. And now he’d put so many in danger – he felt a little of Stark’s own pain. Yet, Steve lost everything for his guilt.

“Come on let’s get this cleaned up,” Marc said and there was a sadness in his voice that span the divide between them. He brought Steve over to the small bathroom and, as Steve washed his hands, Marc continued, “Tell me.”

“Tell you?”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Marc said and then his face contorted as if he listened to something distant and strange. “You want to tell someone, tell me.”

It had been true – Steve had wanted to tell someone. About everything and nothing at all. But he’d only just shrugged and then cleaned up his hands. After he took a towel and wiped down the bag as well. Marc studied him with a critical eye. It irked Steve and if he hadn’t been beholden to the man to get him out of the city safely, he would have left right then.

With an almost sixth sense, Marc recognized his unease and shuffled him back upstairs to the bedroom. At first Steve hesitated but Marc cocked an eyebrow as if reading his mind, but said nothing about it. "Just the bedroom has the best balcony, why don't we sit out here. I'll order some dinner and we can wait for Buck and Maya to report what they've accomplished so far."

His hands twitched. "I'm used to more action." He knew he couldn’t go out there, show his face. He was a sitting duck, but he never liked to sit on the sidelines. 

Marc met his gaze and it turned that soft and vulnerable place down deep in Steve's gut over. He felt a little nauseous. "Right now. We have it handled. Plus to tell you the truth a lot of what I'm doing - well let's just say Captain America wouldn't approve?"

"Well I don't think you have to worry about that anymore. I'd rather just be myself," Steve answered but then grimaced and wondered who exactly Steve Rogers was.

Marc seemed confident that they would be able to leave within the next few hours, that his idea was coming to fruition. He still hadn’t confided in Steve what exactly they were going to do. Now, Marc wanted to sit on the balcony, look out at the ocean, have dinner, and pretend they didn’t have a care in the world. 

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe 1939? But that was a lie; he had to worry about getting food back then. Steve stared out at the balcony, considering if he even wanted to venture there, venture towards reviewing his life and knowing he wouldn’t be happy with the results. Marc hovered close and then said, “If we watch the news for a bit, will you then consider relaxing and letting yourself just forget about it?”

Steve met Marc’s gaze and the intensity nearly did him in. It had been years since he’d hoped, since he really saw someone like this – this raw flame of a man. The feel of it consumed and burned. He wanted to fall into it, to let it warm him, to let it overwhelm him. But he never let himself have – that just wasn’t his way. 

“News and then dinner? It will take a while for it the delivery to come, anyhow?”

Steve nearly denied he was hungry but then his stomach growled loud and long, Marc laughed and Steve grinned – it relieved the tension building and he nodded. It took a while to find the updates on the Steve’s situation.

The news cast sided with the UN and the Accords, repeatedly calling Steve a criminal and a fugitive from justice. He thought he’d gotten use to the idea of it, but in Wakanda he never really encountered it. They were in Marc’s bedroom, standing there staring at the large screen television on the wall. 

_Secretary of State Ross has confirmed that he has asked the state of California to activate a statewide search for Steve Rogers. The State Department has declared that Steve Roger is dangerous and that no citizen should approach him._

He was about to turn off the television, but as he looked down to find the remote, he heard a voice he recognized.

 _Right now, the Avengers are staying out of the way. We have not been activated by the UN. Secretary of State Ross reportedly has stated this is an internal matter to the United States and does not want outside interference. Since the Avengers are considered an international force, we are not allowed to take action with permission._

Rhodes.

“Well, that’s good,” Marc said. 

“Not necessarily,” Steve replied as Rhodes answered how dangerous he thought Steve Rogers might be (very). “They didn’t interview Tony. Tony always speaks, is always out in front. Rhodes isn’t that way, he doesn’t want to be in the news. That means Tony’s off the grid, that means Tony is coming here.” Calling Sharon and asking for help had been naïve but it was his only move, even though it had been too late.

“But this confirms that he’s not,” Marc said. He pointed at the screen that only showed the Avengers Tower in New York. “Even though earlier reports said that he was on his way here, this guy – what’s his name War Machine? He said the Avengers were not activated on this.”

Steve pressed his lips together and shook his head. “You don’t know Tony. He never follows rules, not even his own rules. He’s coming here. We need to get out.” He recalled first seeing Tony in Siberia. How he’d pried open the doors and then let his helmet drop. Steve remembered how Tony used that casual stance, how he threw out a few witty remarks, how he disregarded everything they’d fought about during the airport battle. It still seemed so disconnected and disingenuous. “Tony, follows no rules. He does what he wants, when he wants. We need to move out.”

Marc negated Steve’s urgency. “We can’t. We have to wait until midnight to go. I have it arranged. If we move now, we could tip them off. They don’t know you’re here. They have no idea. We’re safe.”

But for how long? Steve didn’t ask the question out loud. If Sharon with her minimal resources at her finger tips because the CIA put her in a nothing position could find him, then it would only be a matter of time. Sharon must have been waiting, knowing he’d come, knowing that Moon Knight with his shield would attract Steve like a moth to the burning flame.

Steve hesitated as he looked at the screen, as he thought about the desperation in Tony’s voice the last time he’d heard him in that bunker, in that far away time. How Tony never used the damned phone. He could call Tony, he could reach out. He wouldn’t do it now. He might not be as technologically advanced as some people in this century, but he knew enough not to call Tony and hand him a way to trace him to his position. Calling Sharon was one thing, Tony – well that was a different story entirely. That would be like lighting a beacon. “We’ll need a back-up plan. I might have one. But not yet, not yet.”

Marc considered him and then twisted his mouth to the side before he commented, “Okay ,fair is fair. Since I haven’t come clean with you.”

“Yep,” Steve said and couldn’t help but smile. In that moment, their eyes locked and Steve wanted to pull away, should pull away –but found he couldn’t and then he had to admit to himself that he didn’t want to – not really. Marc drew him without any physical contact. Steve couldn’t explain it, didn’t know if he wanted to investigate why – he wanted to allow himself this moment of freedom from the consequences from his thoughts.

Inexplicable.

Steve comprehended that the magnetism, the heady need he felt anytime he moved close to Marc or shared a met gaze couldn't be explained. Steve had been and always would be a man with a mission even if he might be categorized as a man without.

Yet here he stood, his breathing coming in short pants and his gaze flickering from eyes to mouth. He wanted to taste those lips, to feel the scratch of his stubble. It felt like something he'd been aching and troubling him for a long time. He caught himself before he descended and shifted away, though he thought he heard the slightest whisper of a dissatisfied sigh from Marc. 

After a long moment, Steve finally said, "Eat. We need to eat to keep our strength up. Especially if we are moving out today."

Marc looked vaguely disappointed and shifted his eyes to the corner of the room, his mouth pursing as if he wanted to say something more. But he nodded and agreed. He ended up ordering the food and then bringing up some wine. Steve didn't say anything though he worried about the man's attitude considering they were about to engage in a risky flight and he thought it was okay to drink alcohol. To Steve's surprise, he only put one glass on the wrought iron and glass tabletop on the balcony. After he opened the wine he offered it to Steve.

"Need my head about me tonight."

Steve agreed but threw a glance over his shoulder at where Marc was looking. He half expected to see someone standing there, directing Marc. But no one was there but the shadows.

While his nerves still jittered, Steve accepted the strategic plan that they had to eat and be ready to move out when the plans dictated it. He might be perturbed that Marc hadn't shared everything yet with him, but he understood as a leader that sometimes it was best to work out the tactics of a plan before sharing all of it. Though Steve preferred to have input, he had to admit he didn't have a whole lot of knowledge of the area or what might be their danger zones. Plus he’d been out of the loop and out of practice for these many months. He felt rusty and out of date – which wasn’t anything new in some ways. When he needed to know, he'd quiz Marc and his associates before anything happened.

Dinner would be a good time to discuss things. But Steve got off the rails too fast to stop it once the dinner arrived. It happened to be from an Egyptian restaurant that Marc knew the owner. The food varied and like nothing Steve had before became all consuming to him as Marc shared his story of becoming the Moon Knight. He had before but this was different this was a confessional.

“I’m not a good guy,” Marc said as he helped himself to more falafel, spreading the sauce on the pita bread. “You might think so, but you should see my resume.”

“You’re trying to do good, that’s what counts.” Steve liked the meal and the wine. He could imagine something less tense, more relaxed. “I think I’ve had some Egyptian food before.” He thought of the shawarma, eating it with his new team members. He recalled the exhaustion and the utter loneliness of those hours. How all of his hopes centered around that table, sat around that table in that long forgotten restaurant in New York. “Not everyone is good all the time. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“I might have put up a front of being a reporter in the Middle East, but in truth, Steve, I was a mercenary. I know the dirtiest, lowest people around. Don’t get me wrong, it helps in times like these. But did my family survive the Nazi concentration camps for that – for me to become a lowlife? It took death for me to learn.” He shook his head and flinched inwardly. “Being a hero comes naturally to you. You, you didn’t need to die.” He continued to eat as he spoke, sipping iced tea.

“Marc, you have to come to terms with the idea that I’m not perfect. I made mistakes.”

“Did you make them maliciously?” Marc asked.

“Did you?” 

It shut him up – Steve didn’t know whether it was because he had too many things to consider and weigh or if he just didn’t want to admit that he’d done things intentionally. With this in mind, Steve said, “I made a mistake, it tore my world down and along with it – well it changed the world around me. I should have told someone something but I didn’t. I could have put the pieces together – I didn’t. Because to do it would have destroyed too many lives and I couldn’t see the reason to do it. So I didn’t but then it was too late and everything came down on my head. The world might suffer because of it.”

Marc was quiet. His eyes got that glazed, distant look as if he was listening to someone or something, and then he said, “No one will ever convince me that what you did wasn’t noble or in what you thought wasn’t with the best of intentions.”

Steve swallowed down the pain and it hurt to think about it, but he was grateful for the absolution. “Whether you’ve done something wrong or not, Marc, I think it’s time to forgive yourself, too.”

Marc smiled then, really grinned at him with a cocked brow and an upturned twist of his lips. “We’re a pair aren’t we? Kind of dysfunctional. I knew I had a few bolts loose, I just never figured Steve Rogers, the famous Captain America, would too.”

Steve had to laugh – because if he didn’t he might whimper. He learned long ago that his life was built on moments and this – he could feel it growing, expanding into a moment to build upon, to grow a foundation. “So tell me what’s the deal with the claws, and the webs, and the shield thing?”

Marc licked his lips and gave a sidelong glance before he said, “I have my guides, and with that – my purpose. I was resurrected from the dead to do a job. My guides, these characteristics they represent a bit of that.”

Steve listened to Marc as he spoke about these guides as if they were people. He spoke in reverent tones describing these guides like oracles from the heavens helping him make the right decisions, moving him through his life as Moon Knight. Steve didn’t condescend or interrupt him. He didn’t disbelieve him. He might not have understood exactly what the man might be talking about – but truth was Steve had seen a lot in his time he could hardly explain with scientific rationale and logic.

“You don’t think I’m crazy?” Marc asked after he’d spoken for a long stretch.

“How can I?” Steve said. “I’ve seen a man with a red skull for a head, fought alongside a god, fought aliens from outer space, and saw the creation of a new life form. I also slept in the ice for seventy years. Who am I to say these guides of yours are from some psychological break?”

“Well, sometimes, I think I’m crazy,” Marc said and fear tainted his laughter.

The pain of it ached through Steve. Without a thought, he reached out and touched Marc’s hand. It felt so natural, so right. There had never been a time he ever felt so right about anything before – that Marc became the center of his orbit. It was then that Marc turned his hand over so that Steve was no longer only touching the back, but now could caress the palm. The moment froze – Steve had to decide – had to telegraph his intent, whether he accepted or not, whether he welcomed it or not. But then, he’d made the first move, he’d touched first in this instance. 

His heart juddered in his chest and the air in his lung dissipated. He licked his lips and kept his hand in place, slowly, intimately he circled the palm with his index finger. When he looked up to meet Marc’s eyes the intensity, the potency robbed him of the last of his breath.

“You’re too good for me,” Marc whispered.

“Who’s to say who is good and who is not?” Steve asked and let his gaze drop to their hands. The food forgotten, Steve watched as Marc clasped his other hand over Steve’s.

“I don’t want to pretend,” Marc said and that intensity, that power washed over Steve. “I want you to know who I am.”

Steve could taste a certain sense of release, of freedom. Marc invited him to relieve himself of the burden, the weight of the emblem. “I want the same thing. I want you to know me, not Captain America. Me.” It was crazy. He’d only just met the man, but the attraction felt like a consuming wild fire, eating him alive. 

All the layers of the past fell away. For the first time, Steve found freedom. Embarking on this idea, this possibility meant that he could re-imagine his life – be something to someone that was different. That was Steve Rogers. It didn’t matter that Marc seemed to admire (idolize) Captain America – he also saw through the sheen of the armor. He saw Steve. And then, Steve realized as he leaned closer, as his heart ramped up its speed, and his throat tightened, that he wanted a man – was attracted to a man. He’d put away the idea of having a relationship because it never seemed to be the right time or place. Even now it wasn’t but still he wanted it.

He could let it slip away or he could grasp onto it with both hands, hold on, and keep it close. The only problem was that he hadn’t the courage, or the hope. He never had those when it came to relationships. Not really. He shouldn’t have worried because it was Marc who held the reins, Marc who leaned in, Marc who whispered, “Oh I want you.”

INTERLUDE 5: The Depths of Knight

Every alarm bell in his damaged, split brain should have gone off and warned him away. But Marc had always been impetuous and rash. He enjoyed living wild and free. He loved skirting the edge of the cliff, running on the precipice of the road, banking to close to the curve. Heat radiated through the moment and if he didn’t close in, if he didn’t try for it, the moment would be smothered and die. It seemed so simple, so easy to do. 

He leaned forward, clasping the hand in his own. Tilting his head ever so slightly, he watched and then closed his eyes and made that leap of faith. A leap that gathered all the suns and moons in the universe and brought their power to bear. He pressed forward and brushed his lips like a feather against Steve’s mouth as if asking permission. There was a hesitation but then a quick recovery and suddenly the kiss became a mutual yearning, a hunger deep and abiding. 

With each encouragement he pursued and he found himself more reckless, wilder with his touches, his needs. He moaned into the kiss and in response Steve melted into it, groaning himself. His hands came up of their own accord and he cradled Steve’s face and wanted nothing more than to hold him and touch him and explore every inch of him.

_Bub, you’re making me blush._

The words mumbled in the background nearly made him stop, but he shunned the ghosts of his mind and focused on the breathing, living person before him.

_Whoa, I’m a kid you know, keep your hands above the waist._

_Marc, do you really think this is the best use of your time?_

He jerked away from Steve even as his partner’s hand squeezed his upper thigh. Steve startled a bit at Marc’s reaction. He looked around as if he searched for the reason for Marc’s abrupt pause. It probably didn’t help that irritation contorted Marc’s features. Steve’s hand withdrew and he moved back; Marc knew he was losing him. He grappled with an explanation, anything to stop the confusion. But what could he say? 

_Maybe just tell him that when you said you were crazy, you really meant it?_ The young one always said stuff like that – it seemed reasonable but usually just meant that Marc teetered on an edge he shouldn’t approach.

“I have to,” Marc said and he tried to find a way to salvage the moment, to go back just seconds so he could feel the touch, and taste those lips again. But he couldn’t and he swallowed down the flashing pain in his heart and lowered his eyes. His shame heated his face. “I – you don’t want my issues.” Even that was difficult to ground out.

“Marc?” Steve said and he placed a hand on his shoulder. It felt comforting, strong and powerful. Something he’d never experienced – not in all of his days. “If anyone is imposing, it’s me. I shouldn’t have assumed-.”

His gaze shot up and he searched Steve’s expression – hurt and pained – as it was. “No, it isn’t that. I-.” He lifted his hand and aborted the motion but then Steve completed it. He grasped Marc’s hand. Looking down, Marc saw the tangle of their fingers together. He shouldn’t do this – he had no right to drag Steve Rogers into the pit of his despair.

“Steve, you don’t know-.”

_Bub, he wants you. Stop it_

_You’re doing the right thing, you have to focus on the mission._

Marc glanced to the shadows, to his Captain standing in the bedroom near the sliding glass doors to the balcony. He was right, of course. He should only move to get Steve safe and then go back to the issue of Ultron. Not this fantasy he had to bring Steve with him, to hunt down the last of the Ultron parts together. It was lunacy. 

“I know you’ve been trying to do good out here. I know that no one, not even the Avengers thought about the Ultron parts. You’ve been dealing with it all yourself. One way or another, you’ve come to this mission, this calling.” Steve shook his head. “A long time ago, I was asked if the reason I wanted to go to war was if I wanted to kill Nazis. Now I have to ask you the same thing. Is that why you’re here? Are you just in it to kill?”

_Oh yeah, Bub, tell him. Tell him how you like the kill. My claws like to get the revenge of it._

_Stop, even you drink yourself to oblivion when you have to kill._

_Cap’s right, Wolverine, you hate the killing as much as you hate yourself._ Sometimes the teenager had a point.

“No,” Marc said and he didn’t know if he was answering the ghosts of his mind or Steve. “No, I just want to do good. I was given this chance at life, I was given hope. I want to do some good for this world-.”

It was Steve who lifted his hand from Marc’s shoulder and slipped it under his jaw, cradling his cheek. How they got so intimate, so quickly Marc would never know but it felt right like a new jacket – that fit in all the right places. “Then you will. I didn’t want to kill anyone, Marc. I just don’t like bullies.” Steve dropped his hands then and sat back, his shoulders slumping. “One of the reasons I’m in this situation in the first place. I didn’t want to see someone that is like family to me be bullied and forgotten in some ocean prison. That’s just what this is all about – I can’t tell you more – not now. But that’s what it is.”

“The Raft – that’s the ocean prison?” Before Steve answered, Marc’s phone chirped and he tugged it out of his pocket to read the notification. 

“Is everything all right?” Steve asked.

Marc pressed his lips together, looked at their unfinished meal and shook his head. “Buck tells me that Ross is on the move. Not sure what that means. But our transport is on the way.”

“We’re leaving now?”

“Yeah, I think so. Not everything is ready. Not all of the players are in place, but we have transport out of the country and out of the house. So we have to move now,” Marc said and started to stand with Steve following him. 

_Say something to him, man. You wanted to make out with him and he’s right there. Captain America – come on._ Spiderman moved with him as they walked into the bedroom. The darkened room, the evening as the lights glimmered on the waters of the ocean beyond, everything seemed more potent, more telling.

Marc stopped and Steve nearly stumbled into him. “Steve, I-.” They were standing nose to nose, nearly touching in Marc’s bedroom. The last of their dinner cooled on the balcony, his large bed invited them. He couldn’t help himself, he touched Steve’s arms, grazed them softly, tenderly. He wanted so much more.

 _You have a job to do._ The faint echo of his Captain in his head felt off, but it was the real Captain who stopped him.

“We need to move,” Steve said but his voice rasped at the air. 

“Yes we do,” Marc said but neither of them moved.

_Now, soldier!_

Marc staggered as if he’d been hit and Steve moved with him, grasping him so he wouldn’t fall. A look of confusion came over Steve’s face and Marc only shook his head. This was why he couldn’t be with anyone. This was why he should never be with anyone. “Come on, we have to go.”

“Are you okay?” Steve asked and tried to peer in Marc’s eyes, catch his gaze. But Marc turned away, ashamed at his splintered mind. No one should have to deal with this – especially not the real Captain America. 

“Yeah, yeah, just the wounds. They’re getting better,” Marc said using the excuse of his injuries would work for now. But maybe his plan to steal away with Steve Rogers should just be forgotten; Marc didn’t deserve this acceptance. Right now, they needed to get to safety. Saying good-bye would be later. “Let’s just go.”

Marc brought Steve back to his command center. He went to the computers and tapped through to Buck. The ex-agent of SHIELD appeared on the screen. He stood in the shadows and Marc couldn’t make out his features very well due to the low lighting. He looked perturbed but then again, Buck always kind of looked as if he might punch Marc in the face.

“Helicopter is coming as soon as I get off of the line. The passage is booked.”

Marc nodded and then asked, “Maya?”

“Safe. She lured Nefaria out of the city, and then gave him the slip. She’ll be there with me.” Buck glanced over his shoulder and then leaned back into the camera. “That really is Captain America you got there, huh?”

Steve stood off to the side and Marc realized that Buck could probably just see his profile. Marc shouldn’t confirm Buck’s remark, but it sure the hell felt good in a way – after all this time. “Yeah, it is. Told you.”

“You are not an Avenger,” Buck said. He smirked. “Ross is on your tail. He must have figured something out with the activity from last night.”

“We’ll be there, everything is set?” Marc asked.

“Yeah, your money and your contacts do help out quite a bit,” Buck said. “What are your plans with the studio production?”

_Don’t worry about that now, stay on task._

Marc threw a sidelong glance to his phantom Captain and then back to Steve. There were clear differences – other than the obvious. It was becoming painfully clear that his Captain, his ghost persona had been cut from a mold, a stiff almost cardboard cutout, a paragon of virtue with strong morals and clear ideas about good and bad. While the real Captain, the real Steve Rogers presented the same, he also had layers and depths that Marc desperately wanted to explore.

 _You have to get yourself to safety, Marc. Forget about the romance, go now._ He almost did want to punch his Captain. 

“Well?” Buck asked, interrupting his thoughts. “What do you want me to say to the production crew?”

“Nothing, I’ll get in touch with them when we’re safely away. They have a few episodes in the can already. Things will settle down and I’ll come back,” Marc said and almost saw Steve try and intervene but he held up a hand to stop him. And there it was – Marc wasn’t going to let Steve go on his own, there was no way. He had to do this. “Don’t worry about it.”

_You don’t have time for Hollywood, bub, this is life and death anyway._

_Isn’t everything life and death with you anyhow?_

_When do I get to claw the kid?_

Marc tore himself away from his internal battles and then said to Buck, “We’re getting ready. See you soon.” 

He cut off the connection before his friend could further interrogate him about the circumstances concerning the real Captain America standing next to him in his command center. Turning to Steve, Marc said, “We have to get ready. Maya will be there with your stuff. No issues. But I still need to pack.” Right now, he didn’t want to hear any arguments against or even for his plan. He hadn’t shared much – other than they were leaving the country. He guided his guest back to the bedroom so that he could get his things packed. 

Trailing behind him, Steve kept quiet which should have been the big red flag, but the kind of life Marc had run he tended to ignore the possible warning signs. By the time Marc pulled out a duffle bag and stuffed it with his clothes, and then started to take stock of his weapons and his suit for Moon Knight, apparently Steve had made up his mind.

“You’re not coming with me.”

Marc raised an eyebrow. “The hell I’m not.”

“This isn’t your fight. I have an idea about the Ultron parts, so don’t worry about it. I’m going to take care of everything,” Steve said and he reached out to still Marc’s hand as he rolled his Moon Knight cape. “I’ve already caused enough upset in your life. I don’t want to be the cause of more-.” He murmured something that Marc didn’t catch. 

“No, this isn’t happening,” Marc said as he clipped on his webslingers and his claws. “We’re going as a team. I’m here to help you. Once in a while it’s time to have someone else fight for you.”

“You don’t get it Marc, I did that. Most of my life as a skinny sick kid and then as an adult. Bucky, my Bucky defended me, fought my battles. He followed me because of that,” Steve said and there was horror in his voice. “He followed me because he believed in me too. What happened to him – what happened – it changed everything. His life changed the lives of so many others. If anyone is to be blamed for his sins, for his transgressions.” He took a deep breath and looked to the ceiling before looking back at Marc. “It’s me. He followed me because he didn’t want me to get hurt. Because he wanted to make sure I would be safe. People died because of it; the Avengers-.”

“No,” Marc said and grabbed his hand, tight and unyielding. “You don’t predicate friendship on the future. You don’t demand how life will be in relationships. You trust, you hope. But you don’t say I can’t be with you because you fear what could happen. That’s my choice, not yours.” 

_Well done, soldier._

_Even I got a little teary eyed, bub_

Marc closed down his broken mind and focused on the real world, his real Captain. “I’m coming with you. I’m going to help you.” He caught the sound of the helicopter circling a few seconds after he saw Steve flinch. “We’re doing this together.” He grabbed the virtual shield. “You’re going to need this. Strap it on. It’ll work like a real one, except you don’t throw it, you aim and shoot.”

Steve grimaced at the bracelet.

Marc zipped his bag closed. “You ready?”

He inhaled, took one glance at the forgotten dinner, the missed opportunity, and then nodded.

CHAPTER 6

The chop of the helicopter blades struck the air with an alternating force. Marc ran ahead of him toward the chopper; his head ducking down. Steve raced behind him, but images of another copter, another time flashed through his head. Recalling the moments of insanity when he literally grabbed a helicopter out of the air and pulled it as if he thought he might be Hercules. It had been about saving Bucky. He really wasn’t sure anyone understood any of his actions then; he wasn’t even sure he understood it. He put himself in jeopardy, had no idea if he could bring a helicopter down with his bare hands. He had – but the consequences still vibrated through him like the push and pull of the chopper blades. 

He hung back but Marc gestured for Steve to join him. Steve recognized the type of helicopter – a Sikorsky S-92. It was the civilian model, though variants of it were used for the military, especially the US Marines. Steve couldn’t imagine where Marc and his team mates (were they a team?) found a Sikorsky. It led the pack as far as safety features in a helicopter, could handle just about any weather system outside a class 5 hurricane, and it carried a large payload or nearly 20 passengers. He didn’t think if push came to shove he could ever knock this thing out of the sky. It would take a repulsor blast, at least. When he thought of that, his eyes scanned the horizon but just found the sparkling light of the night city. 

Marc ushered him into the huge helicopter that had landed on the roof of his mansion. As Steve climbed in, he noted that the roof top had the landing pad. Even that made Steve want to know more, to dig into the mystery of Marc Spector. Steve stowed his pack and Marc’s bag in the back of the aircraft, tying them down. Then, Steve settled into a seat on the starboard side of the copter and put on his headphones. After he pulled the door and locked it, Marc sat in the chair adjacent to him, snapping on the headphones he dug out of the pocket on the seat in front of him. Most of the rows of seats had been removed from the helicopter, replaced with cargo space. Steve noted that Buck – Marc’s Buck and Maya sat in the cockpit.

“Ready?” Marc asked. His gaze intensified as he glanced around the helicopter. 

Buck brought the copter into the air with the choke and then said, “I’m not gonna lie but this isn’t going to be smooth sailing. We got an armada of Air Force and Navy copters converging on these coordinates.”

“How?” Marc said.

“How did they find us?”

“Did you talk to someone in Pinks?” Maya asked as the helicopter rose from the landing platform.

“Pinks?” Steve asked. He knew it was the hot dog place, but his mind turned to Sharon. Instinctively, he felt in his bones that she would not have turned him over to Ross. It had to be someone else. 

Marc shook his head, but it wasn’t to indicate the negative, but to scowl at the confirmation. “Yeah, yeah, the hotdog place. We talked briefly. I saw you there. The kid behind the counter must have made you and they linked the restaurant’s surveillance footage to me. It’s their only lead so of course they’re coming here. I’m a minor celebrity in this town.”

“Minor is right,” Buck said. “Like in his own warped mind.”

“Don’t get cocky, Buck,” Marc replied. 

“Either way,” Maya said over the comms. She wasn’t looking at them so Steve had no idea how she could hear them at all. “We have attracted too much attention. I’m not sure we’ll get to drop all of your cargo.”

Steve peered out of the window; his eyes trained on the horizon to look for movement in the sky. No moving lights, no aircraft zeroing in on their position. “I don’t see anything coming in from this side of the copter,” Steve reported. 

“We’re clear on the port side as well,” Marc said and then dug through the front pocket to find a tablet. It only took a few minutes for him to open an application that displayed a 360 degree analysis of their airspace. “We’re clear. What do you have on the radar?”

Buck only shook his head and veered the helicopter toward the west – the ocean and their passage, Steve surmised. As soon as they touched down at the docks, Steve would have to lay down his one and only card – the phone. He would have to call Tony and steer him away from Marc and his crew. If it came down to surrendering himself, he would. There were greater, more dangerous factors in play, especially with pieces of Ultron on the black market. If he’d learned one thing from the fiasco of Siberia it was that he knew when to step aside. Steve might not like to say no to a fight, but he no longer had a stake in any fight. He had no country, he had no team, he had no family. He was a man without.

Then his gaze chanced upon Marc as he studied Steve. The eerie low lighting inside of the helicopter threw shadows cast in both elongated and shrunken shapes. In an almost halo around Marc, a trio of shadows danced as the helicopter moved through the night sky. The shapes shifted and merged as the aircraft maneuvered toward its destination. Even as they flew, Steve knew they’d never make it. They might not see the aircraft trailing them, but Steve’s nerves tingled with the knowledge that they were being followed. 

Marc hit the control switch on the headset and his voice came over Steve’s comm. “Just you and me here. What are you planning?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, you’re the one hiding the plan. I think I deserve to know what it is now.” Steve tried not to look him in the eyes. The intensity of his stare, the way he took things apart, analyzed them, and then rebuilt them with only his eyes fascinated Steve and terrified him at the same time. 

“You do, but I’m not going through all of this to have you sacrifice yourself. I’ve seen enough, know enough about you,” Marc said as he made an off handed motion as if he signaled another person in the cabin. “You’re not surrendering. And regardless of what the dickheads in DC say, Captain America is not a criminal.”

Steve couldn’t stop it, he lashed out. “I’m not Captain America anymore. I threw down the shield. I threw it down and I will never pick it up again. I lied to someone close to me. Someone who was part of my team and I destroyed the Avengers because of it.”

Marc’s eyes narrowed and even in the dim lighting, Steve spotted an anger growing. “No, you didn’t destroy the Avengers. The Accords did. Don’t you ever say that again. Do you think we, my group and I don’t know what’s been going on?” He pointed to Buck as he piloted the helicopter. “We know, because we made sure to know. We know about the lack of due process, we know about the lies – about your Bucky.”

Steve swallowed hard at those last words – your Bucky. Hadn’t that been the trigger to get them all into this mess in the first place? “You don’t know.”

Marc reached out and clasped Steve’s hand. They touched with an intimacy that normally would develop over years. But this man, this knight of the shadows owned something that Steve yearned for – he owned a freedom, a liberty to choose. Dropping the shield had been the first real choice Steve made in decades. Everything else had been duty. 

“I know enough, We all do. They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t believe in you, too.” 

“You don’t know about the details, the lie – what it meant. It was an omission that I -.” Steve stopped and tried not to taste the bile. For a fleeting second, he thought he might actually be sick as the helicopter swung around in the air. He wasn’t sure whether or not it was a response to his own emotions or the motion of the aircraft. “You don’t know.”

“People make mistakes, we all make mistakes,” Marc said. “Anyone holding you up and expecting you to be perfect, a damned god, has his brain in his ass.”

Steve squeezed Marc’s hand. “Well, count me in because I kind of think I should try and uphold the value and the honor of the shield. That means being as perfect as I can be.”

“And you hit your limit, we all do. You’re just a whole lot more perfect than the rest of us,” Marc smiled. “Now, you are not surrendering yourself so you can go live in a pineapple under the sea.”

Steve frowned. “I’m not sure what that means. But you can’t protect me, and I don’t want anything to happen to you, or your crew.” Steve tacked the last on after a pause. 

“And that’s our problem not yours.” Marc shifted in his seat and turned away from Steve for a moment. Through the comm link, he heard Marc muttering, but not so clearly that he could make out the distinct words. Facing Steve, Marc slipped his hand away and said, “We have a mission, you and I. The Ultron parts. I need you. You need to get out of the country. We’re doing this together.”

The specter of the Ultron parts hovered over him. He should just call Tony, tell him about the Ultron black market but then the memory of the airport in Germany came back to him. How he’d tried to get Tony and his team to understand, to believe him. How he’d told Tony about the other ‘Winter Soldiers’ but he’d had no proof. Nothing but his word. Tony didn’t believe him, hadn’t taken his word as truth. That stung more than Steve could admit. How many years had they worked together, and Tony still refused to believe Steve. It seemed entirely ironic now that Tony hated Steve because of a truth Steve had buried away. Truth, lies, omission, the very fabric of reality seemed woven in gray thread. 

“Okay,” Steve said, though he wasn’t completely convinced. He needed to call Tony, tell him about the Ultron issue, clear the way for Marc and his crew to be freed, and then surrender himself. The cruel and mocking laughter of the ‘other’ Ross echoed in his head – thinking of how he chuckled at the idea of an attorney for Bucky, that he locked him up and wanted to throw away the key. The underwater prison haunted Steve. “Okay.”

Marc nodded and then hit the comm switch again. This time he directed his question to the cockpit, “Any company?”

“Not yet but we’re seeing some traffic near the shore.”

“The shore,” Steve said, still waiting to be informed about their escape route. 

“This isn’t going to be fun, but we have one good thing going for us,” Marc yelled into the microphone. “Secretary Ross has specifically said this was not an international issue. That this is a national, internal issue.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. Ross wanted Steve all for himself, in a prison no one knew about.

“Well, that means if we get you to a different country-.” 

“I don’t want to force the hand of a country, especially not Mexico. Once they figure out I flew in and entered through Mexico, things are not going to look good and tensions are going to flare,” Steve stated as he hung onto the hand strap while the copter banked. Sharon already had that information and, due to her loyalty to Steve, buried it. How long would it take for others to find it, and to discover that Sharon had protected Steve again? He hated the idea of her taking the fall again.

“We’re not going to a country, that just leaves us vulnerable at any port of call. We going to international waters, to a ship.”

“A ship?” Steve asked. “Still a country would have to-.”

“Be rogue in order for this to work,” Marc said. “This one is.”

“I don’t want to be beholden to some place like North Korea.” Steve felt something squirm inside of him. It was a new feeling, not trusting people. Steve always saw the good in people, always looked for the best. But the Accords, Siberia had taught Steve a harsh lesson. Even though he’d confessed to Tony in the letter that he put his faith in people, now he had a hard time even trying to find a good platform to trust them. Reality was a difficult mistress.

“It’s not North Korean,” Marc said as the copter closed in on the docks. “It’s Sokovian.”

Steve scoffed. “I don’t know if you know this or not but Sokovia would probably be one of the last places to offer me any kind of asylum.”

“You’d be surprised.” Marc left it at that and Steve only grew more anxious until he had to ask, until he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“I think you have to tell me what you’ve got planned and why Sokovia factors in on it,” Steve asked. Otherwise, the thought of leaping out of the helicopter started to feel right and his hands itched for his shield – the shield – it wasn’t his anymore.

“Sokovia pulled out of the Accords, two days ago. Not sure you heard that one,” Marc explained. 

To Steve’s gasp of disbelief, Maya confirmed, “Sokovia found out that Secretary Ross and the UN labeled one of their own citizens as a weapon of mass destruction, and put her in a secret prison without due process.” Maya turned around to look at Steve as she spoke into the microphone. “While they acknowledge Wanda Maximoff’s role in Ultron’s destruction of part of their country and they also acknowledge that Hydra had experimented illegally on her and that she may not be capable of comprehending her actions due to the experiments.”

“I don’t think-.” Steve halted. While he understood that Wanda was not a saint, he also knew her well. He’d mentored her, taught her, saved her from that hellish prison. The idea that Sokovia might pull out of the Accords _for_ her was both startling and confounding. “Why? Why would they defend her?”

“Sokovia wants the UN and the Avengers to pay. It’s part of their leverage,” Maya said, and then winked. “Up to you to explain the rest, Marc.”

“We’re going on a Sokovian ship,” Marc said. “It’s going to be messy. You’re bounty and they want you. So we are giving you over, but it’s a set up and you shouldn’t worry.” 

“A set up?” Steve didn’t want to believe it. Did Marc expect to take over the ship? It was madness. Marc had been kind, caring. And Steve was sure he had been falling for the mysterious man. But then, it wouldn’t be a surprise; it seemed that Steve always missed the boat when it came to such matters of the heart. The latest developments just proved to Steve he couldn’t judge character. What was Marc intending to do?

Marc chimed in. “We’re gonna do a bait and switch. Once we get you on the ship, the Sokovian government will declare that you’re in their custody. We don’t plan on staying in their custody for long though. There are such things as pirates.”

“That seems a little extreme,” Steve said.

“It’ll work,” Marc replied while Buck muttered lowly, “Cracker jack is at it again.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Steve added and suddenly found that he couldn’t say much more. He might have thrown in with a mad man – but there was one thing that kept popping up. Even with his newly discovered trusted issues, he had faith that Marc was doing the right thing – one way or another. So he had to take not a leap from the helicopter, but a leap over the chasm of doubt. 

“Well, I have a lot of bad feelings. You don’t see me quitting,” Marc said and then all conversation abruptly cut off. Dropping from the cloud covered sky an armada of military grade copters surrounded them. 

“About time,” Buck said and swung into action. Apparently the man was an ace pilot like another crazed man that Steve hitched his hopes to. “They might not like this one.” Buck swooped the helicopter downward and Steve felt his dinner lurch in his stomach. He braced himself against the window and saw the ground screaming toward them. But Buck pulled up hard on the choke to bring the copter up again and Steve gripped hard on the side of the window. Steve didn’t think that helicopters were capable of such maneuvers. 

As the copter veered toward the docks and the open water, Steve kept his attention to the enemy aircraft. They were heavily armed and it looked like they were ready and willing to use them. “I can’t believe Ross would let them take us out over civilians, over the city.”

“Yeah, he’s waiting on us getting to the water, probably,” Marc spat out and leaned forward to Maya. He looked right at her to speak. “Can this thing out run them? Can we get to international waters?”

Steve peered up at her and saw the device she had in her hand that interpreted the comms dialogue into words on the screen for her to read. Maya shook her head. “Not all of them. Not now.”

Steve glanced back out of the window and felt a heavy fist in his chest. He would not have these people who were only trying to help him, who believed in him and what he once symbolized go down with him. That was not going to happen. He searched his pockets and tugged out his phone. He had the number – the number to the phone he sent Tony. Of course, he knew it was a gamble. Tony probably didn’t have the phone with him. Not if he was flying through the air, headed to intercept them. Steve ignored all the logic and went ahead and hit the dial while tearing off one side of his headphones. The high pitched noise of the engines, the whirl of the blades made it almost impossible to hear but he still could. The inside of the helicopter did have some insolation. He heard the ring on the line and pressed his lips tight. Marc and Buck were conversing. The helicopter rocketed through the air more like a crazy top spinning out of control. 

He grimaced against the vomit inducing stunts Buck performed as the military copters essentially ushered them to their destination, the ocean. He started to think about disconnecting but the line crackled and he heard a voice he never thought would answer.

“Oh guess who it is.”

“Tony, listen to me.”

“And why would I do that? Are you in a little trouble, Cap? Oh sorry, not exactly Cap anymore,” Tony hissed. Every word pinned Steve down as if Tony readied to vivisect him with his words. And Tony could do it, Tony was smart like that. 

He made a snap decision and he turned his head toward the window, hoping that the background noise would help to keep his companions in the dark about his plans. He searched the skies around them; Tony had to be there somewhere. He knew exactly what was happening. Steve had to commit, he had to get this over with and keep his companions safe. He said it fast, as fast as he could, “I surrender.”

“I mean -.” Tony stopped. “You what?”

Steve looked over at Marc who still talked with Maya and Buck. He pushed the headphones to hang around his neck and pressed a finger into his ear as he listened on the phone with the other. “You heard me. Now call off your military friends.”

“Not my friends.”

“Oh really?” That just irritated the hell out of Steve. From all of the information Steve had – Tony very clearly still supported the Accords and everything Ross advocated. He hadn’t even tried to convince the man not to use a prison under the sea – or at the very least Steve didn’t know that he had. “Well, whatever you want to call them, get them to back down.” The helicopter swerved to avoid another maneuver that was utilized to intimidate. Like a damned cat playing with a mouse. The other military aircraft closed ranks and zeroed in on their copter. Any closer and they risked blades hitting one another. 

“I’ve got no reason to help, Rogers. None at all. You’re a criminal, you’re nothing but a science experiment gone wrong. Worse, you think you’re a hero and all you are is a bully.”

And there it was. The slice and slash of Tony’s wit ripping into Steve, tearing him apart. His focus so fine-tuned that Steve could appreciate it even though the pain. He pushed it aside and squeezed his eyes shut. “You’ll have me. Just don’t hurt them. They’re innocent bystanders.”

“The hell they are,” Tony said. “And, oh yeah, hello!” A flash of red and gold from outside of the window startled Steve and he jerked back as he spotted Iron Man rise along the side of the helicopter.

His heart in his throat, Steve gasped, “Tony, please. Don’t do this.”

Marc grabbed his shoulder from behind as he yelled to the front cabin. “We got a hostile on the side here. Let’s roll it out.”

“Got that,” Buck said and the helicopter spun to the side, nearly striking Iron Man as it whirled around. 

Steve seized the side of the cabin as Marc clung to him. He lost sight of Tony, but heard him over the phone. 

“Son of a bitch. That’s a nice maneuver for someone professing to surrender.”

Marc tugged at Steve’s hand, realizing he was talking on the phone. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting you out of this mess.” Steve couldn’t deny that his frustration and anxiety played a part in his plan, but it was no more reckless than what Marc concocted. “This is not your fight.”

The helicopter made a wild curve and they were thrown in their seats. If it hadn’t been for their seat belts, Steve was sure they’d be plastered against the opposite side of the vehicle. The insane tactics used by the pilot left Steve speechless. Trying to follow the moves was damned near impossible. As the military helicopters swarmed like a maddened hive of bees and Tony zipped through the players at wild speeds. Steve recognized that crazed actions of Iron Man. 

“Tony, you’re going to get yourself killed,” Steve finally said over the phone and hoped he hadn’t lost connection. It only occurred to him then that Tony must have had Jocasta on orders to patch Steve through to the HUD if he ever deemed it necessary to call the ancient phone. 

“Oh you care? I’m touched. I didn’t think a used up experiment had feelings. Well, actually I’m pretty sure you don’t because you didn’t have enough to spare on telling the truth,” Tony said as he appeared near the front of the helicopter. “You see, Rogers, I’m not part of the military. I can do this as a private citizen.”

“He’s targeting us,” Maya yelled.

Steve screamed into the phone, “You are not a private citizen. You are Iron Man and acting as a rogue Avenger. What about your precious Accords?” This wasn’t how this call was supposed to go. He wanted to sacrifice himself, he never intended to continue the fight in Siberia. But the truth slammed into him like an iron fist. The fight in Siberia never resolved. Steve walked away, but to Tony the battle continued. Even though Steve apologized, sent the letter, tried to explain himself. Tony still seethed. 

“We’re almost to international waters, I’m searching for the Sokovian cargo ship,” Buck said and expertly flew the helicopter as Iron Man shot off a few warning missiles. They impacted on the underside of the aircraft, probably doing little damage. Tony was angry, not insane – or so Steve hoped. “We’re getting chatter over the comms.”

“They’re ordering Iron Man to stand down,” Maya said. “Or they’ll take him down.”

“Christ, and I thought I was nuts,” Marc said as he leaned forward watching the display of barely imaginable swings and loops Iron Man did as he avoided the military copters. 

“Tony, please, stop,” Steve said and knew his former team mate would never listen to him. Tony never truly respected Steve, why would he start now? “For once in your life, stop acting on impulse and think.”

“Is that how you handle things, Rogers?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I think things through, I don’t antagonize a terrorist so they’ll blow up my house,” Steve said. “And I happen to think that there are some truths out there that aren’t necessary to know.”

“You’re a bastard,” Tony said and he hovered close to the side of the copter as they crossed over the ocean.

“And you’re a selfish prick, but I think that the Avengers need someone to lead them and to protect them,” Steve said but was cut off as Tony snapped at him. “And that person is you.”

“What Avengers, who did you leave me?”

“What about the new kid? What about Vision? I heard Rhodes was back in the armor again. They need you, Tony, don’t do this. Listen to them and stand down.” Steve swallowed down the regret; it tasted like acid.

“This isn’t over, Rogers.”

Steve squeezed the phone. “I didn’t think it would be.”

“Your friend is mine, you hear me?”

There wasn’t time to debate, or fight, or even try to reason. “For the sake of the Avengers, stand down.” He knew asking for himself was a non-starter. Tony didn’t care about Steve anymore, if he ever had. They had never truly been friends, even though Tony had professed they were – not really. They’d come from two different worlds. Tony talked about his memories of hating Steve half of the time. That didn’t help to build a relationship between them. It only dug out the chasm that opened, wide and foreboding. 

“Rogers, you’ll never be Captain America again,” Tony replied. 

“Then find someone who will be,” Steve said and the ache in his chest split open and it was all he could do not to disconnect immediately. 

Tony stayed silent and dropped out of Steve’s vantage point. He searched the air space, but the task seemed too large, too impossible. He closed up the phone, knowing that Tony said what he wanted to say. That Tony probably never meant to hurt Steve- that it had always been about driving the last nail in Steve’s coffin. He wondered if Tony thought it was worth it. Probably.

Gripping the seat, Steve watched as Buck and Maya navigated the pursuing helicopters. They used a strategy that clearly showed they planned on all three dimensions. The military copters were smart but it sure looked to Steve that they were smarter. Steve slipped on his headphones again.

Buck called back to them, “I got the Sokovian vessel on radar. Get ready.”

Marc reached back for parachutes and their bags. Steve frowned. That wasn’t really going to work. Was there anything in Steve’s bag that he really needed? For a fleeting moment he thought of the shield, the helmet, but then dismissed it. But the bag might be good for a diversion.

“I don’t need the bag.”

“Are you sure?” Marc asked. 

Steve grabbed his bag, rummaged through it, and pulled out a few articles – the fake passport, some cash, a few tokens. He had the virtual shield clamped to his wrist. But nothing more. “You don’t have to come. I’m fairly certain that Tony will actually leave you alone. He might actually come to bat for you.”

Marc grimaced and that strange look glazed over his eyes for a moment before he rejected Steve’s words. “No.”

“Then we jump,” Steve said and peered out of the side of the copter. It wasn’t going to be easy with so many air craft following them. They could easily shoot them out of the sky. Or riddle a parachute with holes. “I’m not using a chute.”

“Are you nuts?” Marc said and whistled. 

“I won’t go for the ship, but for the water. I’ll jump first. They’ll know it is me if I do that. We’ll also send the duffle out with the automatic chute. It will be a distraction for them,” Steve replied. “Then you jump while they are zeroed in on the parachute.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Marc immediately ripped off his shirt to pull out his uniform – a hooded cape. Steve didn’t know how to react, so he kept his face still. There was something both charming and mystical about his costume, and Steve knew if he allowed himself to respond – his face would flush with color. 

“Ready back there?” Maya asked. 

Marc affirmed their state and then Buck swooped the Sikorsky S-92 down, avoiding the line of military copters following them and getting as close to the water as he dared. Steve spotted the sea vessel. A large cargo ship in the middle of the dark ocean awaited them. Light blasted the area from the Navy and Air Force copters, searching and seeking, ready for their move. 

“I’m getting chatter over the comms. The Sokovian vessel is warning the US military away. Seems it is on official business.” Buck reported. “Navy is warning against any hostile action. Said we’re dangerous criminals.”

Steve hated the idea of leaving Buck and Maya to Ross and his goons. This wasn’t their fight, but it looked like he had no other choice. Buck turned around and winked at him. “I got a few moves up my sleeve, don’t worry about us.”

Nothing assuaged Steve’s concerns, but he pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. Tearing off the other side of the earphones, he took his parachute and tied it to the duffle. “See that they notice it.”

It was time and Steve gave a final thank you to Maya and Buck and then with a look to Marc, opened the side door of the S-92. The wind hit him hard and he almost forgot to breathe, but he managed to suck in a breath. The wind slapped at his face and stung, but he zeroed in a on the ship. It wasn’t as far away as he would like. He’d have to get in position to hit the water like threading a needle. 

He glimpsed a streak of red and gold but ignored it, and jumped.

INTERLUDE 6: The Price of Freedom

_Did you see that? He jumped without a parachute!_

_Watch out the kid’s in love._

Marc scowled at both Spiderman and Wolverine. He didn’t need this kind of distraction. Pulling on his mask, he readied the duffle, set the chute to open, and then tossed it. As he did, he saw the copters focusing in on the chute, peppering it with bullets. He would need a prayer and a little bit of magic not to get hit himself. Steve had engaged the virtual shield as he leapt out of the S-92. That was all well and good for him, but Moon Knight didn’t have another shield to use. 

When Steve hit the water, it looked barely disturbed. He sliced into it like a knife. Marc tried not to let it go to his head, a little hero worship was okay but not something to base any kind of relationship on. Someone grumbled behind him as he sighted the water. He wasn’t going to give in and listen to his Captain or even Wolverine. Now was the time for action. 

“Drop her in low,” he called, knowing full well that Maya wouldn’t hear it. So he gestured to her and she nodded. She relayed the information to Buck who, with skilled hands and excellent piloting skills, veered the copter toward the cargo ship. All the while the Sokovian vessel flashed bright spotlights across the sky, nearly blinding all of the pilots. This was his chance. 

As Buck brought the S-92 lower to the ship, Marc flung himself out of the side, his cape catching the wind as it was meant to do. It felt a lot like flying and he reveled in it for only a second before shooting his web toward the main smoke stack of the cargo ship. It caught easily enough and he swung himself around as he felt the zing of bullets fly by. For an instant he worried that Iron Man might intervene but there was no sight of the man anymore. 

The web snagged the stack and Moon Knight curved around it in an arc. Using his cape, he slowed down until he slid to the deck of the ship. The Sokovian Captain greeted him but moved off to command the US Military force clear the area. Marc raced to the side of the ship, searching the black ocean in the evening. Even the silvery shine of the early moonlight couldn’t reach to light the way. 

The gun fire had stopped almost immediately when Marc landed on the deck and the copters moved off, chasing Buck. Marc knew that his friend would easily lose them. It wasn’t a question of if – the man worked for SHIELD in its heyday. He knew his way around military operations and how to get lost easily. Marc wouldn’t be surprised if both Maya and Buck ditched the S-92 and used the parachutes during the brief fray over the water. 

Right now, Marc’s only concern was Steve. Finally, he discovered him crawling up the cabled lines of the ship. Dripping wet, Steve lurched on board with the help of Marc. The skies cleared of the pursuing aircraft as they left the Sokovian ship. There was nothing they could do now, Steve and Marc were no longer in their jurisdiction. 

The Sokovian Captain walked over to Steve, looked him up and down and said, “I am sorry to say, Captain, but you are under arrest.”

Steve expected it, though it still felt numbing. Marc knew it would happen. The submitting look on Steve’s face cut into Marc more deeply than he’d thought it would. This part of the plan needed to work. It was a play that Marc knew was dangerous, but because not all of the players could be in place at the appointed time, he’d had to make some difficult plans – hard short cuts..

 _You’re a good soldier._ His captain said and Marc bit his tongue. He needed to focus on the long game. 

“Captain,” Marc said, directing his statement to the Sokovian leader. “I appreciate your accommodations.”

“And I appreciate your delivery of Captain America, Moon Knight.” He nodded to his shipmates. Two of the bulky men stepped up with manacles in hand which would hardly hold a super soldier. As the men approached Steve, Marc placed on hand on his upper arm.

“This is the right thing to do. You know it is,” Marc said and kept his eyes hard, and his expression harder, though he wasn’t sure Steve could read him through his mask. The look in Steve’s eyes couldn’t have been more difficult to bear, but Mark kept the feelings of his own from swirling to the forefront. That did not stop his phantoms, his splintered mind from mocking him. Marc hoped that Steve understood he wouldn’t give in, this wasn’t the end of the line. This was a plan, a necessary step. He wanted to know that Steve trusted him.

_Maybe if you’d elaborated on the plan. It would have been a better way to go, soldier._

_Sure, Cap, that’s the way to do. Kick a man when he’s down. Hey bub, save yourself. He’s not worth it._

He knew he had to play the part, hurt Steve in front of the Captain of the vessel. Marc hissed and then added to Steve. “Your Avengers, under your leadership wrecked their country. Who is to take the blame for that?”

For a pivotal second, he saw Steve’s glance flicker to the skies as if looking for Iron Man but then he settled back to the deck before them. The aerial flotilla had left them and with it, Steve’s past life. Steve didn’t concede but as the men stepped up to him again, he offered his wrists. Yet, when they clamped the handcuffs around his wrists, he elbowed each of them, cracking the cuffs and flinging them wide as he bolted for the starboard side of the ship. Marc flew after him, rushing with the others as Steve went to leap over the side of the ship.

“Stop, Steve, please. Listen to me. Please.” Marc hated the fact Steve doubted him, and the plan.

Steve halted, holding the rail of the ship, his face turned away. What torment he was going through, Marc could only guess at but his ghosts told him.

_He’s a good man. He only wants to do what is right. Tell him that. He’s lost his way._

_Do the right thing and let him go, bub._

Marc glanced at Spiderman for his opinion. The boy only shrugged. _What do I know? I’m like what – sixteen?_

Why the hell he had a 16 year old in his head was a question for another day – but then again, maybe all men harbored a 16 year old. “Steve, you’ve only always wanted to do the right thing. This is the right thing. Tell your story to them. They aren’t here to be judge and jury. They pulled out of the Accords for the lack of due process. But they want some process.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped and he bowed his head. Turning around he met Marc’s gaze and something powerful shifted between them. It felt as if the god Khonshu linked them on some ethereal plain of understanding. 

“Okay,” Steve said and released the rail. He faced the crowd standing around them. Another four sailors had gathered around the two guards and Captain of the cargo ship. 

“You don’t need the handcuffs, they won’t hold him anyhow,” Marc said. 

The Captain ended up agreeing with Marc and they escorted Steve into the bowels of the cargo ship. The Sokovian Captain turned to Marc and said, “The bounty on his head from the UN is steep. If I was not a man of honor, I would sell him today.”

“You could,” Marc said. He knew this man – he knew that the Captain was not to be trusted. “But what would Sokovia do to you once they found out that you had him and sold him to the UN?”

The Captain practically growled at him in return. “That is not your concern. I live and breathe this boat. Sokovia is different now because of his man and his Avengers. My family died because of his Avengers. Sokovia will show its might in different ways. And me? I only want revenge.”

At that the Captain left Marc standing on the deck in the dark. The lap of the ocean against the side of the ship, the engine hummed in the night, and Marc stood there waiting for the light on the horizon. It would come. This wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 7

They brought him to the hold and shuffled him to a large cargo container. Locking him in, they didn’t even bother to give him a light. He heard the clank of the door shut, and then the lock fall into place. He figured he wouldn’t suffocate to death because he spotted cracks along the seams of the shipping container, enough to allow a dribble of light for him to find his way to the container wall and slide down it to sit. 

He could easily break out; he could easily jump ship; he could easily swim to shore. Probably, though depending on their speed and their course, it was becoming less and less a possibility. He should try. Yet he sat in the corner of the container and allowed the numbness that crept up his back to overtake him. Marc was right. As the leader of the Avengers, Steve should take on the weight of the responsibility: go down with the sinking ship as they say. He laughed in the darkness. His eyes adjusted and he had better night vision than most people had. The container wasn’t completely empty. In the corner they’d set up a cot with a blanket. 

He kept telling himself this was part of Marc’s plan. That he had to trust Marc. And that he should release his hold on the fear of not trusting. The whole experience over the last year had taught him to lose trust, to lose faith in people. That hurt. Steve should be grateful.

He wasn’t.

He didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t have an action or any ideas. He couldn’t call anyone. His phone was toast because of the drop into the water, but he’d planned it that way. He didn’t want Tony tracking him through the phone. It didn’t matter. Who would he call? Sam? What would he say to Sam? He shook his head. Sam needed to be free of Steve. Free of the rollercoaster ride. 

The cot was across the cargo container, but Steve stayed on the cold floor, and didn’t move to go and sit on the bed. Maybe he felt it was better this way. Once he had said that the cost of freedom was high and that it was a price he was willing to pay. This was the price. The Avengers had destroyed a city. The Accords might have grown out of that, or not. He just couldn’t count on others to pass their judgement on his actions. But the fact that Tony unilaterally made the decision to construct Ultron as well as Vision – it cut the heart out of the Avengers. That was not a team decision. 

Steve hung his head. What did it matter now? Bucky was frozen, his team scattered, and Marc. He squeezed his eyes shut. Lord, he’d fallen for Marc in the shortest time possible. It ached through him until he felt his eyes water and he thought he might break – but he was truly a man of his time and he sucked the pain down like a poisoned gas. He’d thought he’d found a like mind, someone who understood him, someone who seemed to have a part of him inside. Had he been wrong? Did Steve have faith in Marc? He found himself teetering, reeling from the change of fate. Marc set this up, he kept telling himself – he just needed to keep the faith. Had he lost that as well? 

“Seems like it.”

The echo of his voice thundered in his head and he closed his eyes. This wasn’t helping; Steve was never a moper. He climbed to his feet and trudged to the cot. Just as he sat down, the clank of the lock rattled the air and the door swung open. The Captain of the ship entered along with crew members. They brought in two chairs, a table, a battery operated light, as well as an extra battery device and some leads. A bucket of water was last. Steve rolled his eyes and sighed. This looked like it would be a fun time.

“Captain,” Steve said and stood as if at attention. “I suppose you’d like me to submit to questioning?”

“You suppose correctly.” He pointed to the chair that was opposite the one Steve surmised the Captain would sit in. “Take off your shirt.”

Steve frowned, but really didn’t mind it. He was still wet and chilled from the dunk in the ocean. He pulled off his shirt, knowing that this did not bode well for him. He put the shirt over the back rail of the cot to dry. He might need it later. He glanced at the crew. Six. That was it. They truly thought they could subdue him with only a half dozen men. 

He sat down in the chair indicated and then the small wooden table was placed not between the two chairs but next to Steve’s chair. The extra battery with leads was dumped on the table, the leads hanging close to him. 

The Captain started. “My government needs answers. I need answers.”

“I suppose you think that torturing me is the way to go about getting these answers?” Steve asked. He couldn’t help it. Bucky always accused him to taunting bullies. 

The Sokovian Captain considered Steve and then nodded to one of his crew members. With skilled hands that showed the use of the device – which upon closer inspection was more than just a battery – was routine to the crew members and the Captain. The crew member taped the leads to Steve’s chest and his wrists while another crew member bound Steve to the chair. 

“You think this will hold me?” Steve asked.

“I’m asking you to stay on your honor,” the Captain replied. “We are all gentlemen here.”

“Well, if we were gentlemen, I would know your name, not just your title,” Steve hissed back at the man. He tested the shackles around his wrists. He could break them, easily enough.

“My name is Rekenoff, is that good enough for you?” he asked. 

Steve glanced at the other men; they might as well have been hooded executioners but he didn’t insist on their names. What he wanted to know was the game Rekenoff was playing and why. He agreed. “That’s very kind of you.” His tone hinted at nothing but contempt.

“I want to know about the Avengers. How they operate, what they did to my countrymen?”

“I’m not longer part of the Avengers, as you know. I’ve been relieved of my shield, of my title, and of my life as part of the Avengers. I don’t even have a country anymore,” Steve replied. That last part hurt, but Steve couldn’t ignore the truth. “Plus I don’t think you actually speak for the rest of Sokovia.”

“No, but maybe for a certain part of Sokovia. As you know, Captain, not all of the government sees the light of day.” His glance lifted up to one of the men standing to the side and near the device. The man reached over and flicked the switch.

The current slammed into Steve and he braced himself, clenching his teeth and riding out the scorching sensation. When it ended, he breathed through his nostrils and hissed out a breath.

“Now, that you can see I am serious-.”

“I can break these immediately,” Steve retorted.

“And I wonder why you don’t?” 

Steve licked his lips and kept his mouth shut. He admitted to himself, he wondered too, but he knew the real reason. Marc. Even if the man sold him out, he had tried to do the right thing. It wasn’t for Steve to judge – not in this case. Until Steve knew that Marc was safe and not a prisoner of these people, he would sit tight. The Captain of the ship wasn’t the only one searching for information.

“Well, it is not for me to wonder at a man’s motivation,” Rekenoff said. He pulled out a cigar and lit it. Puffing on it, he tilted his head as he asked, “Now tell me of my countrymen?”

“Pietro and Wanda?” Steve asked. He swallowed down the pain as it faded away. “Pietro died during the Sokovia Ultron incident. And Wanda is safe. I made sure of it.”

“So my countryman, a brother of Sokovia, is dead because of you,” Rekenoff said and took a hard drag on the cigar. 

Steve nodded and braced himself as the man hit the switch again. This time it lasted longer and the pain shot through him like hot daggers. He huffed when it ended and sagged in his chair. “Where’s the Moon Knight?”

“He cannot help you now,” Rekenoff said and leaned forward, his hands folded like in prayer but with a cigar hanging loosely in their grip. “Ultron came and destroyed my country. He killed my countryman, and then the result. The UN put together these Accords and called my countrywoman a weapon of mass destruction. Are we to blame or are others?”

“Wanda is safe, you have my word,” Steve rasped. “She’s safe. I got her and brought her to a haven. No one can hurt her.”

“But she can hurt so many, can’t she?” 

And that was when Steve understood the true reason for the torture, for the questions. It had nothing to do with the Accords, the Sokovian official statement, or even him – as Captain America. It had to do with the power wrapped up in Wanda. 

“She with the flame of red, like a scarlet witch, you tell me where she is – I help you. You don’t. I sell you to your Secretary Ross.” The Captain of the ship shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t have much incentive to keep you alive or your companion. He might like to pretend to be a super hero but he is only a delusional man wearing a cape.”

“You’ll never get Wanda, she’s safe-.”

The man showed his yellow tarnished teeth. “But she is not home. Sokovia calls her home to do her duty and show the world we are formidable and will never allow something like the Avengers to destroy our cities again.” 

“Even if I did tell you, you could never have her. She would never go with you willingly,” Steve replied. “She’s too powerful.”

“But she is a child without a home. We offer her a home,” Rekenoff said and those words went straight to Steve’s heart. He understood what it meant to be homeless, to ache to go back to where he came from and to be something again. He understood how being hidden away and lost made one feeling tether-less and moor-less. 

“I can’t give her to you. She’s not mine to give.” He really hated when people did that – when people assumed he had the power over individuals. “She has her freedom to do with it as she likes.”

“Freedom to never come home again, because the world considers her a weapon?” He studied Steve. Taking the cigar he reclined back in his seat and said, “She does not have freedom, don’t delude yourself. Do any of us truly have freedom and this liberty you so lovingly uphold?”

Steve had begun to wonder but he wasn’t going to share his deliberations with this power hungry man. “I won’t tell you. It isn’t my secret to tell.”

The Captain nodded once again and the jolt of electrical current cut through Steve like the sharp cold of ice this time. The juxtaposition of the heat of the current with the feeling in his nerves as if he was freezing to death again sent him over the edge and he did cry out this time. When the current finally cut off, his throat was raw and his eyes teared. He needed to stop this now, break his bonds and leave. 

Rekenoff seemed to read his mind. “If you leave now, I will kill your Moon Knight. You cannot stop me.”

“Why would I care about him, he gave me up to you,” Steve rasped. He hoped it was convincing enough. Steve needed to wait it out to find out more information on Moon Knight. Was Marc free? Was he bound? Were they planning on torturing him? Steve didn’t even know the specifics of Marc’s power from that Egyptian god. He had to secure Marc, first. If that meant a few more hits with electrical current, he was sure he could withstand it. Otherwise, what good was the serum in his veins now?

“You know, Captain, you are valuable too. I wouldn’t have to sell you to the UN,” Rekenoff whispered. Steve wasn’t buying it. Sure his blood, the serum might hold a secret or two but the top minds in the world – Banner and Stark hadn’t really found any way to reliably reproduce it. Even if they’d had some kind of version of it that made those other Winter Soldiers, it wasn’t the one Steve had. Not at all.

“Do what you want, I’m not giving you her location,” Steve replied and shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with. This isn’t a game.”

Rekenoff lurched forward and grabbed Steve by the neck. At any moment, Steve could break his lanky arm, but he stayed still. “A game? My country has been downtrodded for centuries. Taken over by the Romans, by your Holy Roman Empire, by the Turks, by the Germans. And now, now you overrun us with robots and destroy our main city. Do you understand I know it is not a game? The greatest weapon in the world is from Sokovia and it should be in Sokovian hands.” He released Steve and stood up. “Don’t think I don’t have bargaining chips. Do you think every piece of Ultron’s army was destroyed when our city went into the water?”

His words stunned Steve. Sokovia. Behind the sale of Ultron robots and parts. Of course, that would be logical. What other place would have such a stockpile of them? He thought of the Avengers, his lost team first – of course. How he wanted to warn them. How he needed them to investigate. But none of his lost team could help him now. The Avengers were dead – or how Steve thought of the Avengers anyhow. That left only calling on his friends or calling Tony again. Neither choice he liked. Calling on his friends sequestered in Wakanda would put them at risk, calling on Tony –that wouldn’t go well. It seemed that old pains die hard. 

He had only one choice – Moon Knight. Marc contacted this Captain to come and help him. Marc did it on purpose. Steve had to trust in Marc. He had to bring that faith in people, buried for months now, back to the fore. A day and a night and he had to trust this man who gave him to a mad man. Of course, Steve had a tendency to do that – otherwise Sam would never had been in his life. 

“I am done with you for now,” the Captain said and stood up. He took the cigar and slammed it into Steve’s shoulder, who only grunted in pain from the burn. “Bring in the adamantium cuffs.” Steve had no idea what that meant, but figured it would be something stronger to hold him. He started to think it might be a bad idea not to break out now but then the crew member next to the switch hit it again and it ran current through him for what felt like hours. The serum could compensate but not that fast or for that long. His vision blurred out and he couldn’t discern any sound. He thought he said something but his words garbled in his mouth.

Someone shouted – or at least he thought someone did – and then he felt himself pitch forward. Everything hazy and bright around him. He shivered and found himself on the floor of the shipping container. They removed the bindings to the chair. It didn’t matter, the numbness stretched out around him, through him. Someone bound his wrists together behind his back.

“You did say- this was not the deal.”

“There was no deal, Moon Knight. You delivered the package, that’s all we needed. We can throw you over board at any time,” the Captain said.

Marc quieted but then as they finished clamping the new cuffs around Steve’s wrists, he said, “Can I stay with him?”

Steve tried to pry open his eyes but they felt gritty and wet at the same time. He shuddered against the aftershocks and that strange numbing feeling crept over him. 

“If you so choose, but don’t try and free him. That metal is one of the rarest on Earth. It can withstand the strength of a herd of elephants,” Rekenoff said with a sneer. “He’s not getting free.”

The captain and his crew members left – or at least Steve thought they exited the shipping container. Marc knelt down next to Steve and tugged away his mask. His eyes widened at the burn marks. He managed a few words.

“Some plan.”

“This wasn’t it, I swear it,” Marc whispered and then scanned the container as if somewhere there might surveillance – there just might be Steve hadn’t really worried about checking that out when he’d been thrown in here. “I knew there would be a point where he would take you into custody, but I had no idea he’d throw you in a shipping container and fucking torture you.”

Steve rolled over, his hands still bound behind his back. “Help me up.” He thought he said it but he might have slurred it more than anything else. Either way, Marc understood and grasped his upper arm and brought him up into a sitting position. The container looped and swiveled around him enough that he felt like he might vomit but he managed to hold it together. Forcing all of his strength to break the bonds, he snapped his wrists apart, but only ended up howling in pain. 

“What the hell?” Marc held onto him, his gloved hands were a distant reminder of Steve’s isolation.

“The metal it won’t break,” Steve said and his body decided to go through a tremor that clacked Steve’s teeth. He closed his eyes. 

“Come on, let’s get you to the bed,” Marc said. “We only have to hold out a little while longer.”

“Some magic happening then?” Steve murmured and, as Marc guided him to his feet and then finally to the bed, he realized the leads had been removed as well. He must have blacked out after the last round. 

“Something like that,” Marc said. He helped Steve onto the bed, and then pulled the thin blanket up and over him. “I have to find the keys. Why don’t you rest, I’ll be right back.”

“I trust you,” Steve muttered and knew the pain and shock of his treatment had gotten the better of him. He would never normally said it out loud. 

No inhibition held him back and Marc stroked away the clammy sweat clinging to Steve’s brow. “You can always trust me. I couldn’t get my transport here fast enough. I had to improvise. I don’t know this guy well. Not enough to trust him, apparently.”

It wasn’t a betrayal and Steve could seed a new found faith in Marc. Steve only made a low humming affirmative sound. He leaned into the caress. “I’m glad.”

Marc chuckled. “That we couldn’t trust this guy?”

Steve shook his head. “No, that you didn’t betray me.”

“Never, Steve, never,” Marc said and stood up. He pulled on the mask again and tucked the hood on as well. “Rest.”

Before Steve could say another word, Marc went to the front of the container and banged on the door. He called out and one of the crew members allowed him to leave. Steve figured he wouldn’t be so lucky. He spent the better part of the next hour twisting his wrists, testing the cuffs. He could feel the slow leak of blood from abraded skin. He’d gotten good at ignoring his own pains over the years. 

The manacles binding him would not give and he resigned himself to the fact that he would have to go ahead and try to escape without his hands. It would be difficult, but not impossible – after all he’d spent a lot of time learning how to use his whole body as a weapon. If anyone was a weapon, then he would qualify. 

His body came back to itself. The exhausted, trembling feeling eased away. Though he still fought some weakness, he knew the serum was doing its work. He rested as he waited for Marc. Since he didn’t know the plan, he couldn’t just throw himself into escaping until he learned more. So he reassured himself that he would learn what he could before he launched into an escape plan. Plus he found some relief in the fact that he learned that at least some part of the Sokovian government might be involved with the black market trade of the Ultron parts. That made sense. Sokovia had always been a fairly poor country. Torn apart by internal wars and corruption for years, Sokovia fought the battle the whole world fought through the cold war for years. It had been caught up in the wars by proxy between the old Soviet Union and the United States. Now, its past still haunted it in more ways than one. 

Steve needed to get free; he needed Marc to get back here. Working at his wrists again, Steve sat up. The shipping container fuzzed out on him and he knew he’d taken a harder shock than he had anticipated. He breathed through his nose and allowed the partial darkness to settle. The spotlight on the pole still illuminated the chair and its mate. 

Steve had no idea how long it had been. A few hours at least. He could feel the rumble of the ship’s engines in his feet. That meant that they had long since left California and the west coast behind – Steve might be a super soldier, but he was fairly certain he couldn’t swim from the middle of the Pacific Ocean to land. 

Just as he decided he needed water and was about to go to the door and kick it to demand some, the lock clicked and the shipping container door swung open. Rekenoff marched in with his goons. He assessed Steve and smiled. 

“I suppose I am the first to use the metal?” He smiled. “The only one to lock up the super soldier. This is good.”

Steve remained on the cot. “I’m not telling you where Wanda is.”

“No, you are not,” Rekenoff said. “I agree. You are too stubborn and I am too impatient. So, I will do what I can to get my money’s worth.”

They walked into the container but didn’t close the door. Steve kept his eyes on the cargo hold outside of the makeshift prison of the container. He didn’t see Marc yet. 

“We will do this easy or hard. I will ask you a few more times about my country woman, hope springs eternal as you say. Then I will have you shocked until you are a dribbling mess of saliva on the floor. It might be interesting to see how far the Captain of America can fall.” The man circled the chairs where Steve had been strapped and tortured. 

“I’m not Captain America anymore. I’m nobody.” Steve said through his teeth.

“I hardly believe that. Your country was after you, your Iron Man was after you. Next time, maybe I come back and get Iron Man,” Rekenoff grinned, his yellow teeth gleaming in the light. 

“No, what do you want?” Steve said and glared at the man. “I won’t give you Wanda. Like I said, she’s not mine to give away. No one is. There’s nothing more I can give you – nothing.”

“There are many uses for a super soldier.”

Steve grimaced and tugged once again at the immovable shackles. They were not coming off. It would be his entire body and kicks that would get him out of this – the only way. He glanced around – fifteen guys if he counted right. Six in the room and the captain. With another eight hanging near the entrance to the container. His vision still blurred out at the edges so he wouldn’t be surprised if that number proved to be wrong. 

“Captain,” a crew member called from the door of the container. “We have company. There’s a ship approaching.”

“That bastard!” Rekenoff said and then pointed at Steve as he ordered, “Bring him. I will throw him in the fucking ocean if anything happens to our ship.”

Two of the crew members came over to Steve and seized his upper arms to get him to his feet. While Steve was infinitely happy that he didn’t have to worry about the battery device thing anymore, he wasn’t pleased about this new turn of events. He still hadn’t been able to consult with Marc, so he had no idea what was going on or how to handle it at this point. He could easily overcome these goons of the Captain’s but he needed a way off the ship first. That was the most important element of his plan. 

As they rough handled him to his feet, one of the crew brought out a gun and pressed it to Steve’s temple. He was not used to being the damsel in distress and frowned at the man. What did they think they were doing? Of course, over confidence was the Achilles’s heel of the loser in any battle. So he maintained a non-threatening demeanor as much as he could. The men shoved him through the cargo hold as they followed their Captain up to the main deck again. Getting up the metal ladder proved impossible without his hands so they decided the best thing to do was to hoist him up. 

“You could just undo the cuffs,” Steve said as they buckled a makeshift harness on him. They must have connected it to the pulley/crane system on board because after they connected the rope, he was unceremoniously lifted from the cargo hold onto the deck of the ship. They dumped him on the deck and Steve rolled over to scan the surrounding area. He needed to find Marc, figure out a way to hide, or get off the ship. They pulled off the harness and, as he found his feet again, dragged him along with the captain.

Rekenoff headed to the bridge. As he walked he demanded, “Find the other one. Find this Moon Knight immediately. He couldn’t have left the ship.” 

As Steve studied the black waters beyond the ship, he spotted what the ruckus was all about – another ship. 

He listened to the navigator of the crew inform the captain. “It’s on an intercept course and it looks like it might be the Bantu Wind, sir.”

Steve startled – the Bantu Wind was a pirate ship of his era, of World War 2. There was no way it still existed. He’d heard stories of its adventures. The Captain – a Simon Katanga – was an infamous smuggler but was no friend to the Nazis. He’d been involved in several close scrapes with the Nazis. Steve never knew whether or not to believe the stories.

“If it’s the Bantu, we’re done for,” another of the crew members said. 

“Not quite yet,” Rekenoff said and turned to Steve. “What do you know about this?”

Steve smirked. “My knowledge of the Bantu Wind is a little dated.”

“Well, mine isn’t,” Moon Knight said as he walked into the bridge of his own free will. The small bridge felt squeezed tight with the number of instruments, the crew members plus Marc and Steve. “She’s here for a prize and I suggest you give it to her.”

“Not my prize.” The Captain sneered. 

“I think so,” Moon Knight said and his hand came up, slinging web out of it to cover the Captain’s face and head. Muffled, Rekenoff went down, scrabbling at his face. With a swift motion, Moon Knight unleashed his claws on his other hand. With a quick upper cut, he dislodged the gun and sliced through the man’s hand holding Steve. Crying out, the man went down, holding his partially dissected arm. Moon Knight pointed the sharp blades at the next crew member closest to Steve. “Unlock the cuffs now.” The captain still rolled around on the floor, tearing at his face, sounded as if he might be hyperventilating. “Now, unlock the cuffs.”

The shocked crew member nodded and rushed to the box on the wall of the bridge to retrieve the key. He brought it out and showed it to Marc before bending down to slip in the key. Another of the crew members jerked to the side as if he was getting something, some weapon, and Marc slashed downward, hitting him in the shoulder and arm. He screeched and fell to the floor with his crew mate as well.

“No guns,” Marc said. “Or I cut you, and I kill you. Get it?”

The crew member with the key finished his job and Steve grabbed the cuffs. His wrists were raw from trying to escape them. He kept the cuffs, determined to understand the metal. Tucking it in his pocket, Steve searched the cabin and located the gun, keeping it at the ready. As he did so, Marc brought the other set of claws out keeping the whole of the crew at bay. 

“Where’s the shield?” Marc asked.

Steve answered, “Don’t know, they took it when they brought me down to the cargo hold.”

“Surprised you didn’t use it to try to escape,” Marc said and directed Steve toward the bow of the ship. 

“I don’t really know its properties considering it’s not real,” Steve said and followed Marc’s direction. 

“It’s real, just not like you mean.” Marc lifted his chin to one of the crew mates. “Where’s the band that was on his wrist?” 

Again the crew member went to the same lockbox but this time pulled out the wristband that contained the virtual shield. They’d probably just thought it was some kind of jewelry. It wasn’t easy to activate. Steve took the band and offered it back to Marc. 

“It’s yours,” Marc said.

“I gave up the shield for a reason,” Steve replied. 

“We don’t have time for a philosophical discussion. Just take it and, if you want to later, you can throw it in the ocean.” Before he could say another word, the blaring horn of the Bantu Wind blasted through the air. Marc turned to Rekenoff still writhing on the floor. “They’re going to board you, or they’re going to fire on you. Signal which you would like.”

The Captain still wasn’t free of the web and he looked like he might be passing out, so a man whom Steve assumed was the first mate, stepped up to the comm system and spoke into it. “Approaching vessel, what is your purpose?”

Marc hissed and dug the claw into the man’s neck. Steve glowered at him. “Stop.” Marc only shook his head.

Steve grabbed the radio from the first mate and spoke into it. “Bantu Wind, please state your purpose.” He shared a frown with Marc but then the Bantu answered.

“We’re here for our bounty.”

Without much knowledge of the plan, Steve glanced at Marc. “Got that, we will allow you to safely board.”

“Just send the Moon Knight and his guest over to us.”

Steve surveyed the bridge. The Captain had nearly passed out in the corner under the control panel from the webbing on his face. The first mate looked seasick and the rest of the crew members who flooded out on the main deck seethed. Steve tried to calm the waters. There was blood all over the floor of the bridge. The two men sliced didn’t look like they would make it. 

“We just getting off. That’s all. You won’t have to worry about anything else,” Steve said as he kept the Glock in hand. 

Steve waved the crew members to make way as Marc commanded the first officer to drop anchor. At the same time, all of the lights switched on to illuminate the deck and the approaching ship. Surveying the deck, Steve spotted the lifeboats and went to lower one. The crew followed, hungry for revenge. Before they closed the gap, Steve raised the gun and said, “I usually try not to kill people. I’ll probably maim you though. Even if you take the gun, I’m still going to win this fight and you know all it. Your Captain needs to reassess his life choices. Think about yours and whether or not it’s worth a limb or two.”

The crew sized each other up and then scattered. It wasn’t his best speech but it worked in a pinch. Marc joined him at the side of the ship and helped him crank the rope to lower the boat. 

“Are you ready?” Steve asked and waited. There really wasn’t much more to say, and Marc only retracted his claws and then climbed into the boat. With that silent assent, Steve followed. He worked the rigging and got it to drop the boat (be it a little fast) into the waters. He saw the crew of the Sokovian ship peering over the side, but he had no sympathy for them. They offered him sanctuary just to take it away and use him in a pawn for their game. He didn’t hold a grudge since none of them decided to engage in any type of revenge. Not a shot was fired, but Steve figured it must be the threat of the Bantu.

As they rowed toward the Bantu Wind, Steve said, “I learned one thing. Some rogue part of the Sokovian government is selling the Ultron parts on the black market. Probably with Klaue’s help.”

“How do you know it’s rogue?” Marc asked as the boat cleared the Sokovian cargo ship and headed through the crests and the waves to the pirate’s home. 

“I’d like to hope it is. But you’re right, it might not be. But it’s something that has to be investigated,” Steve said. He let his muscles stretch out and pull back as he rowed. It felt good against the abuse of the last few hours. 

“So, you’ll call your friend, Stark, again?” Marc said as he waved to the pirate crew awaiting them on the small freighter. “Let him handle it?”

The damage between Tony and Steve felt too thick and deep to salvage any type of relationship anymore. Steve shook his head. “It’s clear that Tony’s not my friend. Don’t think he’ll ever be again, not sure he ever was.” While Steve knew a pang of guilt and heart ache when he thought of Tony, he couldn’t let it rule his life. He disagreed with Tony on the Accords and with the idea of letting someone like Ross take control of the Avengers. He didn’t trust the man. Steve knew the course he should take. It felt clear and easy now. “And I’m not too certain the top brass is up to the job. I have some thoughts, but there for another time.” He shouldn’t do what he was considering, but Steve couldn’t sit on his hands anymore, Steve couldn’t be a man without anymore.

“Good to hear,” Marc said and then they sidled up to the Bantu Wind and ropes welcomed them to their new home. 

INTRELUDE 7: The Pirates of the Pacific

Marc stood in the small cabin assigned to him by the pirate’s captain, a woman named Kara Katanga, grand-daughter of the famous Simon Katanga. He should be grateful, happy even that they managed to survive a haven that ended up being traitorous. Steve would never believe in him, not now. He tore off the cape and it puddled on the floor next to the small bed. He didn’t care. He shed the mask, the web slingers, and the claws. Maybe he would never put them back on again. 

_It was the plan, you stuck to it. You have to think of the overall strategy and not just the point by point action._

He wanted to scream in his Captain’s face, tell him to shut the hell up, but there wasn’t any point. He dropped onto the bunk and covered his face with his arm. It was too much and not enough. He’d been living so screwed up, so shattered, that having Steve in his life for just a few hours had changed him – somehow. He yearned to leave the ghosts that followed him behind and trust his own instincts.

_What do you think we are in the first place, bub? Instinct, conscience, something like that._

“Shut up, just shut up,” Marc said. There were times he wished he wasn’t as screwed up and as broken as he very clearly was. Maybe his calling, maybe it was just a delusional dream of a man with a cracked up brain. He needed help, Buck had been right. Geez, he even spent time with a pseudonym in reverence to Steve Rogers. He put his hands over his face. 

_I think he’s having a breakdown, anyone know what to do? I love science but not this kind of science. Biology is great and all, gamma irradiated spiders, that’s cool. But mentally unstable is not my thing. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to help!_

Marc dropped his hands and screamed, “Just shut the fuck up!”

The images around him faded and disappeared. He sank back down on the narrow bed in the small cabin in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and tried his damnest not to think. But the self-doubt and the fear tangled in his mind to create a knot of anxiety and frustration. His stomach wanted to rebel but he forced the fears away, until he internalized them and he felt them devour him from the inside out. He shivered. He needed to hold it together and his ever present ghosts helped him in that way. 

He wanted to break the habit. An addiction. Maybe it was some kind of self-addiction. Or maybe it was a gift of the gods. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and it hurt but he let it. He saw it again and again. The memory of seeing Steve, on the floor, bound and hurting. Tortured.

“God, tortured,” he said the word out loud to try and get used to it. That’s what had happened in that shipping container. Marc had been assured by the Captain of the Sokovian ship that it would be an incarceration but that was it. Marc accepted the idea of being beholden to the Sokovian vessel’s captain, because he had his back pocket ace, the Bantu Wind, cruising on an intercept course. It would only be hours. But hours counted, didn’t they?

_You did the best that you could do in the short period of time – he doesn’t blame you._

Marc glanced around his cabin but found no one there – his Captain hadn’t rematerialized. He both wanted him to and didn’t want it. The one thing he thought though, was that Steve should blame him. “I need to apologize, to say I’m sorry.”

At least if he did that, Steve might understand he’d always had the best of intentions. For so long he had been teetering on the edge of night and the fall into the void. But with the appearance of Steve in his life, he saw a light. For so long he had faltered, and measured the distance between now and forever and his brain felt splattered. He was a man that couldn’t gather his thoughts, because his thoughts manifested into a disease. He was a man in need of hope, and stability. He was a man without both. He was a man without.

Rising from the bed, he went to the cabin closet – a small thing only half a foot deep and two feet in height. It looked more like a locker from a high school than anything else. He pulled out the clothes the Bantu Wind’s Captain had promised would be there. Just a t-shirt and jeans. Nothing more. He frowned. He could go without the underwear. That was fine. He pulled off his clothes put them in the bag in the corner of the room. Dressed, he folded up his costume and tucked it away. Technically, he shouldn’t walk around the ship without his cape and mask. No one knew who he was, but Steve was only a step down the narrow passageway, and the Captain knew him. Kara knew who he was and she would do her best to keep her crew quiet. 

When he stepped out into the passage, his heart rammed a beat in his chest loud enough to deafen him. Ignoring it, he went to Steve’s door and knocked. Without pause, Steve opened the door and smiled. Welcoming.

“Marc, come,” Steve said and added, “Sorry not a lot of room in here.” He gestured for Marc to enter. He wore a new pair of jeans and no shirt – but one was on the bed, laid out. It looked too small for him. “Everything’s really small, even the clothes”

Marc laughed or tried to but it stuck in his throat. “The Bantu was never known for large rooms,” Marc said and sidled into the space. 

After closing the door and latching it, Steve replied, “Back in the day, my day, I remember stories about the Bantu Wind. Kara’s grandfather was a pretty famous pirate, but he helped the war cause more than once. I’d hear a fantastical story about an archeologist, a Doctor Jones or someone, who hid on the ship when the Nazis were looking for some magical artifact. Don’t know the story too well, it seems.”

Maybe he couldn’t help himself, maybe he was delusional and stupid and seeing things that were not there. Maybe he was just relieved to see Steve so vibrant and healthy and telling a story of his other days, but Marc closed the inches between them and took Steve’s face into his hands and kissed. For one shocking moment, Steve didn’t respond and Marc was certain he would get pushed across the narrow space and crack his already splintered head against the cabinet there. But instead, Steve brought his own hands up, embraced Marc, and deepened the kiss. Marc felt it down to his toes. Everything shimmered and shook inside of him so that he only wanted, only needed, only consumed and was consumed.

He found himself leaning toward the bed, and Steve, willingly, followed him. They fell in a thump and Marc whispered his hands along sculpted shoulders and arms below him. He kissed and suckled and licked his way down to Steve’s chest, his unmarred chest – the bruises and burns were nearly faded. But he needed to apologize. This wasn’t what he came into the cabin for at all.

Pulling away, he said, “I didn’t mean – I wanted to-.”

“What?” Steve looked glorious and willing, and just as hungry as Marc. Yet, when Marc started withdrawing and saying the things he had come there to say, the desire disappeared, replaced by self-admonishment.

“No, no,” Marc said and stroked a hand down Steve’s cheek. “I mean, I came here to apologize. I should have been more open, told you the plan, but-.”

Steve didn’t allow him to finish. He brought him back into his embrace and their mouths touched again. When it happened the world blinked out and he fell into the gravity well – a well of so much longing and need that he very nearly drown in it. He couldn’t tell if it was Steve’s yearning or his own, or maybe some mixture of both – but it concocted into a heady need as if it became a thing between them with its own mindset. Both of them succumbed to its demands so easily, that Marc marveled at it. 

Marc wanted to touch and explore, to feel and experience everything. The world beyond the narrow cabin faded and he forgot the worries and the concerns. He drifted away from the constant plague of his splintered mind and only allowed himself to feel. The center of his everything became Steve. 

Steve, who was so responsive. Steve, who matched his hunger. Steve, who begged so nicely it drove Marc to the edge of a new kind of madness. 

He found as he nibbled and licked that Steve followed his lead rather than the other way around, it surprised and made Marc inexplicably happy. With very little persuasion on his part, they both pitched their clothes and soon Marc had the whole canvas of Steve’s body to create a new kind of passion. He swirled his tongue along sensitive areas of flesh, he teased nipples and lapped at the crease of Steve’s leg right next to his groin. Steve responded with the most delightful groans and most obscene words to beg for more. His shuddered under Marc’s skilled hands. Marc had always been a master at this – he had a lot of experience along the way. 

To impart and take part in lovemaking with Steve Rogers sent him flying high. He felt a little like Icarus sailing too close to the sun, yet unlike that mythical character, Marc knew the safety of Steve’s embrace. He would not be burned. 

“Marc,” Steve murmured as they tangled, almost wrestling, together on the small bunk. He brushed the hair out of Marc’s eyes as he peered up from lapping near Steve’s navel. “Marc.” His voice was already ruined and they’d done little but explore one another’s bodies.

“Steve, tell me you want this, please.” He didn’t know what he would do if Steve told him to stop. Of course, he would walk away, but he knew he would walk right out onto the deck and fling himself into the deepest currents. He felt a ringing connection with Steve, as if all this time his mind sought one person, one beating heart. The words and murmurs of his broken psyche seemed far away and, somehow he felt whole.

“I want it, Marc, I want it so much,” Steve said in a voice hoarse and urgent. His face colored a deeper red and Marc detected the faintest of tremors in his muscles of his legs beneath his hands. 

Marc crawled back up to face Steve. Hanging over him, he sheltered him from all else. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I want you, I want all of you, but-.” Steve swallowed down something painful and harsh. “If there, if there ever was someone who’d waited too long. It must be me. I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to do this.”

The reality of the words hit Marc and he tooled his face not to show shock or any kind of dismay. Instead, he said in quiet tones, “This is your first time?”

“I want to be with you, I want-.” Steve stopped and struggled with the words. “Something connected when we met, I can’t explain it. We belong-.” He left the sentence dangling as he ran his hands over Marc’s chest, the scrap of healing injury along his side. 

With those words, Marc gathered Steve to him. The kiss felt like he’d been starved for touch and human embrace for all his days. Even as Marc tried to make everything perfect, Steve gave him more. It set him higher and filled him with such desire that he could barely breathe as they kissed. To fall into Steve, to be with Steve meant releasing all of his doubts, all of his insecurities. He needed to lead, to show. The fear of his mind left him, if only for these moments and he touched and showed.

“I want you to tell me what you’d like,” Marc said. Their panting filled the room with a heaviness. 

“I want you, all of you. I don’t want to hold back. I’m tired of holding everything in and everything back,” Steve said and his eyes glimmered with wetness. Marc reached up and kissed each of his lids. 

“I can give you everything, Steve. I’m going to kiss you, your mouth, your nipples, your chest, your cock. I’m going to suck you and you’re going to lay back and enjoy it.”

Steve bit at his lips and then said, “Can I? Would you be inside of me?”

Marc held Steve’s cheek and wanted to weep with both desire and happiness. The two emotions blossomed and he whispered, “Anything you want, anything you want.” It occurred to him that even a super soldier might like it to be comfortable and not dry, so he said, “Hold on.” This was a ship filled with sailors. The Captain Katanga dislocated two of her crewmates to offer both Marc and Steve rooms of their own, but that meant that there were probably drawers filled with personal belongings. 

Marc got on his knees to rummage through the drawers. His cock ached between his legs, urging him on. He went through three of the drawers before he finally came upon a small box, inside of which had a dildo and some lube. He smiled. He plucked the lube out and left the sex toy. 

“Do you think you should do that?” Steve said, his eyes wide but the expression on his face wild and almost deviant with need. 

“Yeah, it will make it more enjoyable, believe me,” Marc said and tossed the tube next to the pillow. He braced arms on either side of Steve. “So the best way to do this, after I’ve had my fill of kissing every part of you, is from behind. You on your knees. It’s easier the first time that way.”

“I want to see your face.” The way Steve stated it – like Captain America – Marc knew there would be no debating the point. 

“Okay, but we have to take our time,” Marc said and lowered himself on top of Steve who shuddered with such pleasure, that Marc returned the favor. “God, you’re a sin to be made again and again.”

Steve smiled in return and that set his blood to boil. He ravaged Steve’s neck as he squirmed beneath Marc. Even as Steve searched his body, his big hand touching just the right places, Marc explored and tasted. He teased and bit at Steve’s nipples, catching the nipple between his teeth and tugging just enough to stretch it and edge toward pain but still so much pleasure. Steve hissed and shook with it, moaning and closing his eyes as Marc glanced up at him. 

Marc could feel the thickness of Steve’s cock between them, dripping and wet. His mouth watered at the idea of him coming in Marc’s mouth, at the idea of shooting his own cock over Steve’s chest, on his face, ruining him until he begged for mercy in a way that would set Marc and Steve free. 

As he kissed and tasted his way down Steve’s body, Steve murmured to him, “Knew it, knew it, the moment I saw the reports, reports.” It sounded like a chant, like he was so lost, so out of it that the stream of consciousness took over. “Saw it, knew you were it. Knew you would be it.” 

Marc didn’t know what to believe. He’d been chosen by an ancient Egyptian god to become Moon Knight. Maybe in some way the connection between them had been destine. The idea spurred him on and he drifted lower until he brought Steve’s hot and heavy cock into his mouth. The head was wide, much wider that Marc had ever seen. He licked at it, and then swallowed down the head, keeping it perched on his tongue as if testing the weight and letting his mouth and body adjust. His own cock felt rigid against his belly, so needy and wanting that he wondered if he would spill too early. 

As he slid his tongue down the length of Steve’s cock and then gulped it further down his throat until his eyes teared and he loosened his muscles, Steve cried out. The muscles in Steve’s legs shivered and he seemed to fight not to thrust. Marc bobbed his head up and down and Steve sobbed out a curse and ran his hands through Marc’s hair. The touch of Steve’s long fingers, the thought of his powerful body succumbing to Marc’s ministrations nearly did him in. He wanted more, so much more – and he was greedy, because he never wanted it to end.

Through the haze of it all, the feeling of Steve filling his mouth with such a weight, so much of himself that Marc teetered on the precipice of delusion and reality. He heard Steve weeping, beseeching him for release. Regretfully, he let Steve’s cock fall from his mouth and in reply Steve cried out. 

“I’m gonna prep you now, Steve,” Marc said and reached up to get the tube. It only took a moment to get the lube squeezed out and then he started to circle Steve’s entrance. Steve’s legs went lax and he absently touched his cock while his eyes – so blown dark with desire that there was little blue left – glazed over. 

“You do that, touch yourself, I love to see that,” Marc whispered and the ache in his belly coiled and twisted until he nearly had to bend over with it and take himself in hand. It would make things easier if Steve was relaxed. Marc slowly eased a finger into Steve, and watched as he stopped fondling himself – but just for a moment and then he groaned. He shifted slightly as if to allow Marc better access (and he did) and then went back to stroking himself, rhythmically to the in and out, in and out with Marc’s finger. Marc added a second finger and then a third. Each time Steve exhaled and then waited until he adjusted and then started to touch himself again. It was almost intoxicating, mesmerizing watching him. Absently, Marc wondered if Steve could take another finger, but it wasn’t time for that – not at all. 

So he said in a tender, deep voice, “Push back a little.” Steve did and then his hissed out a breath, and then another. His gasps came in short and heavy. “There you go, you’re so tight but so good. I’m gonna fuck you now.”

He slipped his hand free and then lubed up his cock. The heat made the cool lube feel like it burned. He bit back a cry and then lined up. “We should do this on your hands and knees, it would be easier.”

“No, this way. I want to see you.” Steve shook his head, but his eyes had a wild dog look, ravaged, eager, almost mad with it.

“Okay, okay,” Marc whispered and then placed the head of his cock at Steve’s entrance. He held it there, letting Steve get the feel, the size of it and then he said, “Relax.” He pushed in. And it was tight and like velvet and fucking glorious. Steve arched his neck, tensing for only a second until Marc said again, “Relax.” And he followed direction and eased onto Marc’s erection, pushing onto it. 

Marc positioned Steve’s leg up, pulling him down the bed to be able to have full access. Steve complied, his body both tense and willing. With a shove, Marc drove deep and Steve shuddered in response. Steve mouthed his name, and then threw his head back trying desperately for more. He set up a rhythm, first slow and easy so that Steve could get used to it, and then more maddening, hungrier.

“Touch yourself, bring yourself off,” Marc said and Steve only cried out. Too undone to coordinate more than a pitiful grasp of his erection. Instead, Marc held him and started to stroke him, harder and harder until Steve began to beg for Marc not to stop. “Come for me, come.”

Steve jerked once, and then twice and then he shot hard and long. Ribbons of come coated his chest, his abdomen, some even hit his face. He whined a bit but Marc lost all cognizant thought because Steve’s ass orgasmed and it threw Marc into a frenzy. He thrust faster and deeper and harder, being harsh and lost in the feeling. Until he came and he didn’t even have time to warn Steve. He just came and came in a hot and thick flood inside of Steve. And his body felt drained, as if it gave every last bit of itself over to Steve in some kind of communion. When he finished he didn’t think he could stay upright a minute longer, and he collapsed on top of Steve.

They laid there panting and entangled in one another. It felt right and perfect, and somehow a little freeing. Steve kissed his temple and rolled them over until he was perched over Marc, searching his face with wonderment and something akin to sweet desire. 

“You’re going to do me in,” Marc said.

“You’ve already undone me,” Steve said and nuzzled against Marc’s neck. They stayed tightly wrapped around one another for long quiet minutes. 

An image came to Marc as they lay there, an image he very much wanted to make a reality. After a few more minutes of silence and the cooling of the heat of their lovemaking, Marc said, “If this was normal circumstances, I would have wined and dined you, first.”

“Yeah?” Steve said and he still sounded a little drunk with pleasure.

“Yeah, we would have gone out. To one of those old fashioned piano bars. I know of a few in LA. There’s this one that every Thursday night has a big band playing. We would have gone. I would have made reservations.”

“What’s the dress code?” Steve asked and when Marc glanced down at him, his eyes were heavily lidded and his lips blissful in their expression. 

“Oh, formal only. We’d be wearing tuxedos. Only the best. You would drink champagne and I would spike it with a little known brew from Egypt – a brew of the gods that’s known to do certain things to even the strongest of us.” Marc shifted their positions so that Steve laid on his chest. It was odd, Steve being the larger of the two – but it seemed to fit well. They both were too tall for the bed, but it didn’t matter as they snuggled up close to one another. 

[](http://s1249.photobucket.com/user/winterstar95/media/MD7_zpsulolntss.jpg.html)

“Something from Egypt huh?” Steve said.

“Yeah, you would drink the champagne and we would eat thick steaks. The music would be playing the fast swing dances, but I wouldn’t ask you to dance then,” Marc said. “No, I’d ask when the moonlight was coming in through the skylights of the restaurant. It’s one of those restaurants at the top of the skyscraper. The moonlight hits the dance floor and a special hour and I’d take you to dance.”

“To dance?” Steve’s voice sounded tremulous.

“That’s if you wanted to. I would love to dance with you, Steve. One day, I’d love to dance with you. Do you like to dance?” 

Steve smiled against Marc’s chest. “I don’t know. I’ve never-.” He stopped. “I’d love to dance with you.”

Marc kissed Steve or Steve kissed Marc – he didn’t know which. He melted into it, and let the night cover him. Not in capes or secret identities, but in truths. He felt whole again for the first time in years.

CHAPTER 8

Around the third night, Captain Katanga appeared at Steve’s door and sized him up. She didn’t judge, only twisted her mouth into a reflective frown and asked, “If you are agreed, I will give my first mate back his cabin.”

They’d spent most of the time in Steve’s borrowed cabin. Only Steve left the room to retrieve food or to bring back dirty dishes. He had spent a few minutes discussing with the Captain their destination and got them on the right route to where they should be headed. Other than that, Marc and Steve had stayed put – finding and knowing each other more than Steve could have possibly hoped for at the beginning of this sojourn. 

“Yes, yes, of course, I’m sorry for the imposition, Captain,” Steve said. “I’ll get the other cabin cleaned out as soon as possible.” As soon as he put on some clothes. He actually was standing to the side with a sheet from the bunk wrapped around him and the door between the Captain and her view of a very debauched Marc sleeping on the bed. Steve could only imagine what he must look like with his hair sticking up from sweat and the hickeys all over his chest and neck, and a sheet slung low around his hips that he clutched his side. The musk of sex hung in the air.

She winked at him. “Do it by the noon tomorrow. That way he can have his room back in order by the time we get to port.”

“Port?”

“We should get there by the end of the week.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, Captain, but the honeymoon, as they say, is over.”

Steve agreed, what else could he say? Plus he had no idea what her thoughts were on the subject that her two castaways were holed up together in a small cabin, very apparently fucking their brains out. He wanted to laugh but kept his face still. “Understood. I’ll clean out the other cabin today.”

“And Moon Knight, can I assume he will stay with you?” the Captain asked, her eyebrow arched and a certain kind of conspiratorial hint in her voice.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

At that she did chuckle a little, and then said, “Maybe you might join us for evening dinner. It would be nice to talk with the former Captain America. Many on the crew admire you.”

Steve glanced over his shoulder at Marc, who would not be able to join them still undercover of the garb of Moon Knight. Plus, Steve was unsure if Kara knew that Moon Knight and Marc were the same person. During the preparations, it had been Marc who put together all of the plans, but Steve had no idea whether or not the names of the people traveling had been mentioned at all. 

“I’ll see what I can do, ma’am.”

She smiled at them. Her rich dark eyes aglow with a little bit of that reverence he’d seen when he was Captain America. “Many of us do not agree with your Secretary Ross. The rumors that he puts people in prisons under the ocean without a trial are well circulated. Many in my profession are looking to find that prison and scuttle it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve said. “Thank you.” She left him then and Steve closed the door. He stood for a second thinking of her words, of what Marc had been trying to say to him all this time. He might still be associated with Captain America, but the truth of the matter was – Captain America was what _Steve_ made him, and not the other way around. He couldn’t escape his need to help people. Hell, that was the reason he was standing here naked on a pirate ship in the first place. He’d gone to LA to help Marc, it seemed. But in the end he found his purpose. Or rediscovered it. He didn’t feel adrift anymore. Even in the middle of the ocean.

He had a lot to think about as he crawled back into bed. Marc stirred and smiled, a sleepy half-awake smile. They could go yet another round, but Steve only wanted to hold Marc. He’d brought Steve back, somehow. Taught him that the worth of a man wasn’t the emblem on his chest, but the idea of his heart. It wasn’t that lying in bed had brought the ringing truth of the matter to hand, but that Marc spoke to him and talked about all that Captain America meant. He also said something that struck Steve – 

Captain America wouldn’t be if it hadn’t been for Steve. Steve had argued that point, but Marc shook his head.

“No,” he had said. “Captain America is more than muscles and more than a symbol. Captain America is you.”

“I’m not the shield anymore.”

“You’ll never escape being Steve Rogers though, and that’s the hell of it,” Marc had whispered as they held one another after a particularly exhausting round of sex. “I can never escape my ghosts, the ghosts of my mind. Being with you isn’t going to cure me. But the fact remains being with you makes me a better man. I want to help, I want to learn from you how to do that. Who do I need to learn from – a guy in a costume? No, I need to learn from the guy right here in my arms. The guy who never liked bullies, no matter where they were from.”

Steve had thought about it long and hard – a better man. In many ways, Marc dug away at the dirt and stones of the grave that Steve had constructed around himself over the intervening months since Siberia. He’d fashioned a crypt – built it steadily and completely so that not even his closest friends like Sam could break through it. Probably the best thing that Steve did over the last months had been to make the decision to go to the US. If he hadn’t, Steve was sure he’d still be stuck in the muck of his brain. Climbing out of that place, the walls were high, and slimy and he was sure he’d end up in the bottom of the hole again – but Marc showed him a little of who Steve Rogers was – what it meant again.

Over the course of the next two days, Steve spent a little more time on deck. He dined with the crew members and felt more alive than he had in nearly a year. When he had drinks with the Captain and her First Mate, they discussed the Raft. Steve kept things a little obscure, but he did mention that he had some ideas on how to resist the current administration, how to change things. Both the Captain and the First Mate – a man named River Jones – asked to be part of the change. Steve wasn’t sure about enlisting pirates but Kara assured him.

“It’s not about piracy. We might have that reputation from days gone by but it’s not,” Kara said. “Though we like to keep it that way. So our real mission stays under the radar, Captain.”

He didn’t bother correcting her that he didn’t carry the shield or the title anymore. “And that is?”

“There’s a small contingency of independents that work against the worst of humanity. We’re here to stop human trafficking, Captain. We stop it through donations from confidential sources,” Kara said. “Every now and again, we must pirate to keep our reputation. Being under cover does have its downside. Keep that in mind as you make your plans for the future. Keeping a secret means that you have to maintain a cover story.”

Steve had thanked her that night. It gave him a lot to think about. As the ship cruised through the Indian Ocean stopping along the way at ports of call to do its business, Steve saw was more than just pirating, but also bringing freed people to safety. He kept his head down so none of the people saw him. Eventually they ended up at Mombasa, a main port of Kenya. He’d contacted Sam earlier in their trip and coordinated travel back to Wakanda. He didn’t like the idea of putting Wakanda in a bad position, but he had no other choice. 

As they prepared to depart, Marc slipped on his Moon Knight costume. Steve pulled on a pair of jeans which he had picked up at a market in India – one of their ports of call. They’d spent the last day together. Steve only left the cabin for food. At one point, their time together was hot and hurried as if the devils of their past approached and threatened. It was a frantic kind of crazy heat. Steve on all fours, shoving back onto Marc as he pounded into Steve. At some point, Steve lost all connection with reality and just floated on the urgency of it. He rammed back into the punishing pace, feeling his erection thick and heavy between his legs, achingly hard and untouched. He hissed through his teeth, grinding them, holding back his needs. When Steve let out a small whine of yearning, Marc came in a hot spill and Steve followed without a hand on him. Later he tried to clean up the room as best he could, but considering the water rations, he failed in his attempt. 

“I’m pretty sure they know what we’ve been doing in here, Steve,” Marc had said as they packed up. 

“Well, we don’t have to broadcast it,” Steve replied.

“Oh, I think we did that already, many times.” Marc pulled him into a kiss and then they finally got ready to leave the Bantu Wind. Packing up what little supplies they had, Steve waited as Marc put on the mask and cape. 

“It’s like a hundred degrees out there,” Steve said as he opened the latch of the door.

“Well, I’m not parading around deck now. I’ve tried to keep it quiet who I am,” Marc said and nodded as if to someone else. “I think I can handle it.”

“Okay, it shouldn’t be too long. Wakanda sent an agent to meet us and bring us directly to the airport.”

“Great,” Marc said and they left their small cabin behind. Steve would like to think of it as a love nest but that seemed far too childish and romantic for big grown up men. Marc bent down and whispered to him, “Kind of feels like we were on the Loveboat.”

Steve smiled and replied, “I don’t know what that is, but if it means what I think it does, then yeah. I agree.”

Marc slung his arm around Steve for a second before he dropped it. Once ready to leave, Steve and Marc, dressed as Moon Knight, left the Bantu Wind after speaking with the Captain one more time.

Kara took Steve’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “Kenya is a friendly nation, Captain. They have resigned from the Accords due to the fact no African nation is a permanent member of the UN Security Council. Many other African nations have followed suit. If the Security Council is to be representative, then the African continent deserves its rightful place, and not just as a non-permanent member.” 

“Thank you, Captain, for everything.”

“Be in touch,” Kara said and nodded to Moon Knight. With a wink, she added, “Tell Marc Spector we served you well.”

“I will,” Moon Knight replied. 

Once they departed, Marc disrobed from the Moon Knight costume and they went through customs with forged identifications. In seconds as they entered the main lobby of the port, Steve spotted Sam and a contingency from Wakanda. 

Sam smiled and strode up to him, hugging him and slapping him on the back. “You look good. You shaved the beard. I heard about all the excitement in LA. Almost came out to get your ass out of hot water, but it looks like you found someone else to help you out.”

Marc offered his hand. “Marc Spector.”

Sam sized him up and took his hand. “I don’t know what you did, but that boy is positively glowing. I don’t think I’ve seen him this relaxed and happy in a long while.”

“Okay,” Steve interrupted. The hustle and bustle of the port of call streamed around him and Steve had to admit. He felt free, open, and at ease for the first time in years. Not since Siberia, but probably since he first woke up from the ice. “That’s enough.” Surrounding them included the official party from Wakanda. “Do you think we could move this along?” He didn’t want to make a scene. 

Sam eyed him and with a twist of his mouth and a cocked brow, said, “Right this way, let’s go home.”

INTERLUDE 8: The Formation of the Future

Being with Steve hadn’t saved Marc, but it had damned well anchored him. He knew that fixing his brain, if there was a fix, wasn’t going to take a magical dick and some hot sex. He wasn’t stupid. Getting to Wakanda had been a wonder and he considered himself one of the luckiest men alive. But the truth was that his brain still conjured personalities – be it Wolverine or Spiderman or (what the hell) Iron Man now. After two months of being in Wakanda and watching his old life drift away, Marc finally went to the scientists at the Center for Scientific Discovery of the Mind and asked for help. He worried it would change the way he interacted with his other persona – Moon Knight but they promised him they understood the mystic and the mind. They would have to - considering they had the Black Panther here.

He’d only met the king on occasion. Steve seemed to have his ear but they didn’t always agree on everything. From what he understood, T’Challa didn’t want to scrap the Accords completely but he had fundamental problems with them. He wouldn’t pull Wakanda out of the Accords, yet he harbored Avengers who blatantly and openly defied them. When Marc asked Steve about it, he’d only said, “T’Challa understands what we’re up against. He also knows that the system isn’t fair. So he’s straddling the fence.”

“How long will that last?”

In their apartment a floor above the mist covered lands of Wakanda, Steve had only bowed his head and said, “I don’t know.”

So the truth was they were living on borrowed time in Wakanda, and they both knew they would have to leave at some point. Marc might not get a cure from all that troubled him, but he had a Captain – a real one to follow – and he thought that was all right.

It had been Sam who visited him when Steve had been called to a Wakanda Council meeting. Marc had expected the shovel talk, so when Sam showed up at their door, he invited him in without hesitation.

_He might look non-threatening, but remember he’s fought alongside the Avengers._

Marc ignored Wolverine and asked Sam, “Want some coffee?”

“Sure, great,” Sam said and Marc could see by the jittery way the man anxiety pulsed off of him.

“Maybe a drink? I think Steve and I have some beer?” Marc said and headed to the small alcove kitchen that was in the high rise apartment. When they first arrived in Wakanda, Steve had offered Marc a place to stay – after a while he remained. Steve and Marc never spoke of it, they’d just become this couple. Marc’s things were scattered over the apartment, along with the few things that Steve had accumulated during the time he’d spent in the African nation. It surprised Marc that he could spend so much time here and gather so little as a trail of his existence.

“Beer would be great,” Sam replied and flexed his hands twice.

_He’s itching for a fight, you want me to claw him?_

Marc heaved out a sigh and under his breath only muttered a no. He was sure Sam didn’t hear him as he pulled out two bottles from the large commercial sized refrigerator Steve had in the kitchen. The kitchen might only be the size of a butler’s pantry, but it served a super soldier and showed it. Of course, it had never occurred to Marc just how much a super soldier needed to eat.

Marc ignored the ghosts following him, popped open the beers, and brought the two, one handed to the living room. “Here you go,” Marc said as he offered the beer to Sam and they entered the living room area. It felt like it went on for miles. The sleek glass windows were like an infinity pool making it seem like a step outside onto the mists surrounding the building was possible.

Sam took a swig of the drink before he sighed and said, “I think you should realize Steve has decided to leave.”

For a second, Marc thought he might leave him and Iron Man was standing at his side whispering, _See, even you thought he was a friend. Not so much now, huh?_

“I mean leave Wakanda,” Sam clarified.

Marc shrugged off the phantom of Iron Man and said, “Steve mentioned it, said he couldn’t hide anymore. Said especially since there was so much discord about the Accords now. Which is kind of a paradox if you ask me.”

“Or an oxymoron, one or the other,” Sam agreed while Marc shuffled them to the couch and chairs. The living space was sparse but the lines clean and welcoming. “I’m going with him, because he needs me.”

“Well, I’m going, too,” Marc replied. There really wasn’t any question. 

“I wanted you to understand what that meant. Steve – well, when you first met him in LA – I’d say he wasn’t in the best frame of mind. Lost some of his purpose. When I first met Steve one of the things I asked him was if he wanted to get out, get out of the game of protecting the whole damned world,” Sam said. “And you know what he said to me? He said he didn’t know what he would do.”

“Figures,” Marc said, remembering how difficult it was for Steve to sit on his hands as Marc mapped out their escape. “He could hardly handle me doing the escape planning. Still worries about my crew. They got away, clean. No trace back to me. No one really even knows I’m gone since I’m still executive producing my show from here.”

Chuckling, Sam shook his head. “I really can’t believe that our boy got tangled up with you, a TV producer. But that’s the way it goes. I came here to give you a better view of things, though.” Sam stopped, peeled a little of the label from the bottle of beer. “Being a part of the team with Steve is to be about something bigger than yourself. It isn’t easy, you have to take one for the team, more than once. And you have to believe in him.”

“That’s not hard for me, I promise,” Marc said and the image of his Captain appeared on the periphery. Since he’d started this thing with Steve, his Captain barely manifested anymore. “I get him.”

“Well, you have to test him, question him, don’t let him walk all over you,” Sam said. And for a second, Marc thought Sam was warning him off of Steve, but then he continued. “I have faith in Steve because of how he sees the world. Lots of people think he sees things only in black and white and I have to tell you, that’s not it.” He grimaced a little. “Well, sometimes, but the point is that Steve sees things on a higher plane. On a higher moral plane than the rest of us. He’s willing to fall on his sword to save the world. He’s done it before, several times, he’ll do it again.”

Marc nodded and lowered his head, so that he couldn’t see Sam. He needed to process the idea of losing Steve. That was too hard, too difficult to fathom.

 _It’ll be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you._ That was his Iron Man persona and Marc wondered at that. He needed to contact Buck and see if he could make an Iron Man gauntlet for the Moon Knight. That would be kind of cool.

“I’m not sure I can stand the idea of that,” Marc confessed. There was no sense in hiding it.

“You gotta get used to it,” Sam said and took another drink of the beer. He swallowed and then met Marc’s gaze. “He’s a hard one to lose. I almost lost him and it damn near broke me. I’m just his friend. You – well – you’re his center.”

“Just his friend,” Marc said as he shook his head. He’d seen Steve and Sam interact. If there ever was a pair of brothers – he saw it there. The two of them tested and trusted one another to the envy of all others around them.

“Well, being his friend is quite something.”

“Yeah,” Marc said and laughed a little ruefully. “I suppose I thought you were here to give me the shovel talk.”

“Well, actually,” Sam smiled and cocked his head. “That comes next.”

Marc took it seriously, though Sam kept it light. “I’m not here to hurt him. He’s my world.”

“Well, while this is romantic and great to hear, I want you to bring it down to ground level. Steve, well, he waited a long time. Lost his love back in the day and here he is with you,” Sam said and set down the beer bottle. He raised his hands in a kind of surrender. “I didn’t even know he swung that way, but hell, I’m glad he found you. But I don’t want you taking advantage of someone naïve enough to have waited and someone cynical enough to think he’s not good enough.”

“I don’t intend to.”

_Come on let me gut him._

Marc flashed Sam a smile to quell the inner rage of his own. “Like I said, I intend to treat Steve like he is my world, because that’s the truth.”

“I hope so,” Sam said. “Because I’m not going to see him hurt. Never.”

 _He just hurts everyone else._ Iron Man was really getting on Marc’s nerves – what the hell part of his psyche was he representing? It really wasn’t a question Marc needed answering. He’d always felt a little less and now he was with Captain America – Steve Rogers of all people – anyone would be hard pressed to live up to him. 

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Sam. Anyone would be hard pressed to be with Steve,” Marc said, echoing his own thoughts. “I could go with my inner fears, think he’s just out to love me and leave me. That he has no integrity and that I should hurt him first, but the truth is – Steve has the most integrity of anyone I’ve ever met, or probably will meet. I know he’ll do right by me, and I intend to do the same for him.” Why did Marc feel like he was defending himself to Steve’s dad before taking him out to the prom?

“Okay then, I should probably-.”

The click of the latch turned their attention to the door and Steve walked into the apartment; the open sightline of the floor plan allowed him to immediately see them as they stood up. “Hey Sam. Didn’t know you were coming over today.” He glanced at Marc as if to get the inside scoop. 

“Sam was giving me the shovel talk,” Marc said and pointed at his guest.

“Hey, I’m just here to make sure the leader of freedom and the sentinel of liberty is well taken care of,” Sam said and smiled at Steve.

“And are you satisfied?” Steve said as he crossed the room. His eyes glittered at Marc, with all kinds of unspoken words.

 _Wowza, I think he loves you._ Spiderman always could boil things down to the nitty gritty. 

“Well, I gotta ask that question to you,” Sam said and crossed his arms. 

Steve smirked, cocked his brow, and then said, “More than satisfied.”

Sam dropped his hands and clapped his thighs, laughing as he did. “I walked right into that one.”

“Yes, you did.” Steve said and smiled. “But the truth is – yes I am satisfied and very happy about it, Sam.” 

Marc watched the interaction between the two of them and a small part of him envied it, but then again he believed he got the best part of Steve. The part that spoke about dreams and hopes, and wanted to have something more than fighting for the world. The one that realized he could have something more, but that at the same time, he still thought it was okay to try and save people. That was the part that Marc held in his arms every night.

“Well, I think it’s time to gather, anyhow.”

“Gather?” Marc asked.

“Yeah, we’re going to make our plans to depart.” Steve studied both of them. “Wanda and Clint are coming, too.”

“So that’s a team,” Sam said.

Marc smiled. “Buck and Maya would be more than happy to help from the sidelines, I’m sure. With I mean, whatever.” He wasn’t exactly on the same page but he had a reason to believe that they were on the precipice of something different, something great. 

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Steve said. “Kara and River from the Bantu Wind are giving us harbor. We’re going to take this out of any country. From the open seas, we’re going to do this.”

“What?” Sam said. “We’re becoming pirates?” His look was dubious to be sure and Marc laughed.

“No,” Steve said and the light caught him from the window. It illuminated his hair, his perfect skin, flashed across his yellow and blue shirt. “No, we’re a team. We’re going to do what’s right. We’re going to help people. First mission will be the Ultron parts. We’re doing this as a team, we’re doing this as the Secret Avengers.”

_Now that is what I am talking about!_ Spiderman danced around in the shadows while Iron Man doubted, and Wolverine sharpened his claws. His Captain wasn’t there, not now. 

That didn’t matter because Marc’s Captain was in front of him, beside him. They would fight the good fight together, side by side with a team Marc could trust. For the first time, he knew acceptance and love. 

“We’re nomads,” Sam said and nodded. “A team without a country.”

“Sometimes being without is the only way to discover what you want,” Steve said and offered his hand to Marc. “Are you ready?”

He gazed into Steve’s eyes, earnest, determined, hopeful. Grasping his hand, Marc smiled as the shadows faded and he walked into the light, into the infinity surrounding him. “Yeah, I think I am.”

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Tony makes a threatening appearance/attack in the fic. Steve and Tony have heated words. Neither of them are very kind to one another. Steve tries to reason with Tony. But neither of them are very good at talking to one another. In this story they are very much like they are in the movies - not really friends. Something less. Nothing that happens in the fic is a referendum on either character. This is not supposed to take on CA:CW head on, but intended to show Steve moving forward in a different direction with different people as his team, and as his partner.
> 
> Oh and did you recognize the name of the pirate ship? Are you a fan of Raiders of the Lost Ark? If you did or are, then you know that Kara Katanga is the granddaughter of the pirate in the Raiders of the Lost Ark, Simon Katanga. The pirate ship is the same on that appeared there. I thought it would be nice to drop a little easter egg and tie Indy to Steve! ;)


End file.
